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V- 2. 4 



LIFE ON 


THE MISSISSIPPI 


By Mark Twain 

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Biographical Edition 


NEW YORK AND LONDON 


HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 


1899 



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45105 



Copyright. 1874 and 1875, by H. O. Houghton and Company. 
Copyright, 1883, by Samuel L. Clemens. 



Copyright, 1899, by Harpek & Brothers. 

Ali rights reserved. 

Q / BY X 2 

< ( S. L. CLEMENS. J % 
H \ Mark Twain. / '■' 

[TRADE MARK.] 



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THE ''BODY OF THE NATION" 

But the basin of the Alississippi is the Body of the 
Nation. All the other parts are but members, impor- 
tant in themselves, yet more important in their relations 
to this. Exclusive of the Lake basin and of 300,000 
square miles in Texas and New Mexico, which in many 
aspects form a part of it, this basin contains about 
1,250,000 square miles. In extent it is the second great 
valley of the world, being exceeded only by that of the 
Amazon. The valley of the frozen Obi approaches it in 
extent ; that of the La Plata comes next in space, and 
probably in habitable capacity, having about -| of its 
area ; then comes that of the Yenisei, with about \ ; the 
Lena, Amoor, Hoang-ho, Yang-tse-kiang, and Nile, f ; 
the Ganges, less than \ ; the Indus, less than 1 ; the 
Euphrates, \ ; the Rhine, y"^. It exceeds in extent the 
whole of Europe, exclusive of Russia, Norway, and 
Sweden. It would contain Austria four times, Germany or 
Spain five times, France six times, the British Islands or 
Italy ten times. Conceptions formed from the river-basins 
of Western Europe are rudely shocked when we consider 
the extent of the valley of the Mississippi ; nor are those 
formed from the sterile basins of the great rivers of 
Siberia, the lofty plateaus of Central Asia, or the mighty 
sweep of the swampy Amazon more adequate. Latitude, 
elevation, and rainfall all combine to render every part 
of the Mississippi Valley capable of supporting a dense 
population. As a dwellijig-place for civilized man it is by 
far the first upon our globe.- — Editor's Table, Harper s 
Magazine, February, iS6j. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I 

The Mississippi is Well worth Reading about — It is Remarkable — In- 
stead of Widening towards its Mouth, it grows Narrower — It Emp- 
ties four hundred and six million Tons of Mud — It was First Seen in 
1542 — It is Older than some Pages in European History — De Soto 
has the Pull — Older than the Atlantic Coast — Some Half-breeds chip 
in — La Salle Thinks he will Take a Hand Page i 

CHAPTER II 

La Salle again appears, and so does a Cat-fish — Buffaloes also — Some 
Indian Paintings are Seen on the Rocks — " The Father of Waters" 
does not Flow into the Pacific — More History and Indians — Some 
Curious Performances — not Early English — Natchez, or the Site of 
it, is Approached 8 

CHAPTER III 

A little History — Early Commerce — Coal Fleets and Timber Rafts — 
We start on a voyage — I seek Information — Some Music — The 
Trouble begins — Tall Talk — The Child of Calamity — Ground and 
lofty Tumbling — The Wash-up — Business and Statistics — Mysterious 
Band — Thunder and Lightning — The Captain speaks T—Allbright 
weeps — The Mystery settled — Chaff— I am Discovered— Some Art- 
work proposed — I give an Account of Myself — Released ... 15 

CHAPTER IV 

The Boys' Ambition — Village Scenes — Steamboat Pictures — A Heavy 
Swell — A Runaway 30 

CHAPTER V 

A Traveller— A Lively Talker— A Wild-cat Victim 35 



VI / 

CHAPTER VI 

Besieging the Pilot — Taken along — Spoiling a Nap — Fishing for a Plan- 
tation — " Points" on the River — A Gorgeous Pilot-house . Page 40 

CHAPTER VII 
River Inspectors — Cottonwoods and Plum Point — Hat-Island Crossing 
— Touch and Go — It is a Go — A Lightning Plot 49 

CHAPTER VIII 
A Heavy-loaded Big Gun — Sharp Sights in Darkness — Abandoned to his 
Fate — Scraping the Banks — Learn him or Kill him .... 57 

CHAPTER IX 

Shake the Reef — Reason Dethroned — The Face of the Water — A Be- 
witching Scene— Romance and Beauty 65 

CHAPTER X 
Putting on Airs — Taken down a bit — Learn it as it is — The River 
Kising 73 

CHAPTER XI 
In the Tract Business — Effects of the Rise — Plantations gone — A Meas- 
ureless Sea — A Somnambulist Pilot — Supernatural Piloting — Nobody 
there— All Saved 80 

CHAPTER XII 

Low Water — Yawl sounding — Buoys and Lanterns — Cubs and Sound- 
ings — The Boat Sunk — Seeking the Wrecked 88 

CHAPTER XIII 
A Pilot's Memory- — Wages soaring — A Universal Grasp — Skill and Nerve 
— Testing a "Cub " — " Back her for Life " — A Good Lesson . 95 

CHAPTER XIV 

Pilots and Captains — High-priced Pilots — Pilots in Demand — A Whis- 
tler — A cheap Trade — Two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar Speed . . 105 

CHAPTER XV 

New Pilots undermining the Pilots' Association — Crutches and Wages 
— Putting on Airs — The Captains Weaken — The Association Laughs 



— The Secret Sign — An Admirable System — Rough on Outsiders — A 
Tight Monopoly — No Loophole — The Railroads and the War 

Page 113 

CHAPTER XVI 
All Aboard — A Glorious Start — Loaded to Win — Bands and Bugles — 
Boats and Boats — Racers and Racing 126 

CHAPTER XVII 
Cut-offs — Ditching and Shooting — Mississippi Changes — A Wild Night 
— Swearing and Guessing — Stephen in Debt — He Confuses his 
Creditors — He makes a New Deal — Will Pay them Alphabeti- 
cally 134 

CHAPTER XVIII 
Sharp Schooling— Shadows — I am Inspected — Where did you get them 
Shoes ? — Pull her Down — I want to kill Brown — I try to run her — I 
am Complimented 143 

CHAPTER XIX 
A Question of Veracity — A Little Unpleasantness — I have an Audience 
with the Captain — Mr. Brown Retires 150 

CHAPTER XX 
I become a Passenger — We hear the News — A Thunderous Crash — They 
Stand to their Posts — In the Blazing Sun — A Grewsome Spectacle — 
His Hour has Struck 155 

CHAPTER XXI 

I get my License — The War Begins — I become a Jack-of -all-trades . 1G2 

CHAPTER XXII 
I try the Alias Business — Region of Goatees — Boots begin to Appear — 
The River Man is Missing — The Young Man is Discouraged — Speci- 
men Water — A Fine Quality of Smoke — A Supreme Mistake — We 
Inspect the Town — Desolation Way-traffic — A Wood-yard . . 163 

CHAPTER XXIII 
Old French Settlements — We start for Memphis — Young Ladies and 
Russia-leather Bags 172 



CHAPTER XXIV 
I receive some Information — Alligator Boats — Alligator Talk — She was 
a Rattler to go — I am Found Out Page 176 

CHAPTER XXV 

The Devil's Oven and Table — A Bombshell falls — No Whitewash — 
Thirty Years on the River — Mississippi Uniforms — Accidents and 
Casualties — Two hundred Wrecks — A Loss to Literature — Sunday- 
Schools and Brick INIasons 183 

CHAPTER XXVI 

War Talk — I Tilt over Backwards — Fifteen Shot-holes — A Plain Story 
— Wars and Feuds — Darnell versus Watson — A Gang and a Wood- 
pile — Western Grammar — River Changes — New Madrid — Floods and 
Falls o 190 

CHAPTER XXVII 
Tourists and their Note-books — Captain Hall — Mrs. Trollope's Emo- 
tions — Hon. Charles Augustus Murray's Sentiment — Captain Mar- 
ryat's Sensations — Alexander Mackay's Feelings — Mr. Parkman Re- 
ports .... 198 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

Swinging down the River — Named for Me — Plum Point again — Lights 
and Snag Boats — Infinite Changes — A Lawless River — Changes and 
Jetties — Uncle Mumford Testifies — Pegging the River — What the 
Government does — The Commission Men and Theories — "Had 
them Bad " — Jews and Prices 204 

CHAPTER XXIX 

Murel's Gang — A Consummate Villain — Getting Rid of Witnesses — 

Stewart turns Traitor — I Start a Rebellion — I get a New Suit of 

Clothes — We Cover our Tracks — Pluck and Capacity — A Good 

Samaritan City — The Old and the New 214 

CHAPTER XXX 
A Melancholy Picture — On the Move — River Gossip — She Went By 
a-Sparklin' — Amenities of Life — A World of Misinformation — Elo- 
quence of Silence — Striking a Snag — Photographically Exact — Plank 
Side-walks 223 



CHAPTER XXXI 

Mutinous Language — The Dead-house — Cast-iron German and Flexible 
English — A Dying Man's Confession — I am Bound and Gagged — I 
get Myself Free — I begin my Search — The Man with one Thumb — 
Red Paint and White Paper — He Dropped on his Knees — Fright and 
Gratitude — I Fled through the Woods — A Grisly Spectacle — Shout, 
Man, Shout — A look of Surprise and Triumph — The Muffled Gurgle 
of a Mocking Laugh — How strangely Things happen — The Hidden 
Money Page 232 

CHAPTER XXXII 
Ritter's Narrative — A Question of Money — Napoleon — Somebody is 
Serious — Where the Prettiest Girl used to Live 248 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

A Question of Division — A Place where there was no License — The 
Calhoun Land Company — A Cotton-planter's Estimate — Halifax and 
Watermelons — Jewelled-up Bar-keepers 253 

CHAPTER XXXIV 
An Austere Man — A Mosquito Policy — Facts Dressed in Tights — A 
swelled Left Ear 258 

CPIAPTER XXXV 

Signs and Scars — Cannon-thunder Rages — Cave-dwellers — A Continual 
Sunday — A ton of Iron and no Glass — The Ardent is Saved — Mule 
Meat — A National Cemetery — A Dog and a Shell — Railroads and 
Wealth — Wharfage Economy — Vicksburg versus The "Gold Dust" 
— A Narrative in Anticipation 261 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

The Professor Spins a Yarn — An Enthusiast in Cattle — He makes a 

Proposition — Loading Beeves at Acapulco — He was n't Raised to it — 

He is Roped In — His Dull Eyes Lit Up — Four Aces, you Ass ! — 

He does n't Care for the Gores 269 

CHAPTER XXXVII 
A Terrible Disaster — The " Gold Dust " explodes her Boilers — The End 
of a Good Man 276 



CHAPTER XXXVIIT 

Mr. Dickens has a Word — Best Dwellings and their Furniture — Albums 
and Music — Pantelettes and Conch-shells — Sugar-candy Rabbits and 
Photographs — Horse-hair Sofas and Snuffers — Rag Carpets and Bridal 
Chambers Page 277 

CHAPTER XXXIX 
Rowdies and Beauty — Ice as Jewelry — Ice Manufacture — More Sta- 
tistics — Some Drummers — Oleomargarine versus Butter — Olive Oil 
versus Cotton Seed — The Answer was not Caught — A Terrific Epi- 
sode — A Sulphurous Canopy — The Demons of War — The Terrible 
Gauntlet 284 

CHAPTER XL 
In Flowers, like a Bride — A White-washed Castle — A Southern Pros- 
pectus — Pretty Pictures — An Alligator's Meal 290 

CHAPTER XLI 
The Approaches to New Orleans — A Stirring Street — Sanitary Improve- 
ments — Journalistic Achievements — Cisterns and Wells . , . 296 

CHAPTER XLII 

Beautiful Grave-yards — Chameleons and Panaceas — Inhumation and In- 
fection — Mortality and Epidemics — The Cost of Funerals . . 301 

CHAPTER XLIII 
I meet an Acquaintance — Coffins and Swell Houses — Mrs. O'Flaherty 
goes One Better — Epidemics and Embamming — Six hundred for a 
Good Case — Joyful High Spirits 305 

CHAPTER XLIV 

French and Spanish Parts of the City — Mr. Cable and the Ancient 
Quarter— Cabbages and Bouquets — Cows and Children — The Shell 
Road— The West End— A Good Square Meal—The Pompano— The 
Broom-Brigade — Historical Painting — Southern Speech — Lagni- 
appe 310 

CHAP'lER XLV 

" Waw" Talk — CockFighting — Too Much to Bear — Fine Writing — 
Mule Racing 3I7 



CHAPTER XLVI 

Mardi-Gras — The Mystic Crewe — Rex and Relics — Sir Walter Scott — 
A World Set Back — Titles and Decorations — A Change . Page 326 

CHAPTER XLVII 
Uncle Remus — The Children Disappointed — We Read Aloud — Mr. 
Cable and Jean ah Poquelin — Involuntary Trespass — The Gilded Age 
— An Impossible Combination — The Owner Materializes — and Pro- 
tests 331 

CHAPTER XLVIII 
Tight Curls and Springy Steps— Steam-plows — "No. I." Sugar— A 
Frankenstein Laugh — Spiritual Postage — A Place where there are 
no Butchers or Plumbers — Idiotic Spasms 334 

CHAPTER XLIX 
Pilot-Farmers — Working on Shares — Consequences — Men who Stick to 
their Posts — He saw what he would do — A Day after the Fair . 342 

CHAPTER L 
A Patriarch — Leaves from a Diary — A Tongue-stopper — The Ancient 
Mariner — Pilloried in Print — Petrified Truth 348 

CHAPTER LI 
A Fresh "Cub" at the Wheel — A Valley Storm — Some Remarks on 
Construction — Sock and Buskin — The Man who never played Ham- 
let — I got Thirsty — Sunday Statistics 354 

CHAPTER LII 

I Collar an Idea — A Graduate of Harvard — A Penitent Thief — His 

Story in the Pulpit — Something Symmetrical — A Literary Artist — A 

Model Epistle — Pumps again Working — The "Nub" of the 

Note \ 362 

CHAPTER LIII 
A Masterly Retreat — A Town at Rest — Boyhood's Pranks — Friends of 
my Youth — The Refuge for Imbeciles — I am Presented with my 
Measure 374 

CHAPTER LIV 

A Special Judgment — Celestial Interest — A Night of Agony — Another 
Bad Attack — I become Convalescent — I address a Sunday-school — A 
Model Bov 3S0 



CHAPTER LV 

A second Generation — A hundred thousand Tons of Saddles — A Dark 

and Dreadful Secret — A Large Family — A Golden-haired Darling — 

The Mysterious Cross — My Idol is Broken — A Bad Season of Chills 

and Fever — An Interesting Cave Page 389 

CHAPTER LVI 
Perverted History — A Guilty Conscience — A Supposititious Case — A 
Habit to be Cultivated — I Drop my Burden — Difference in Time 396 

CHAPTER LVII 

A Model Town — A Town that Comes up to Blow in the Summer — The 
Scare-crow Dean — Spouting Smoke and Flame — An Atmosphere that 
tastes good — The Sunset Land 403 

CHAPTER LVIII 

An Independent Race — Twenty-four-hour Towns — Enchanting Scenery 
— The Home of the Plow — Black Hawk — Fluctuating Securities — 
A Contrast — Electric Lights 410 

CHAPTER LIX 
Indian Traditions and Rattlesnakes — A Three-ton Word — Chimney 
Rock — The Panorama Man — A Good Jump — The Undying Head — 
Peboan and Seegwun 417 

CHAPTER LX 
The Head of Navigation — From Roses to Snow — Climatic Vaccination 
— A Long Ride — Bones of Poverty — The Pioneer of Civilization — 
Jug of Empire — Siamese Twins — The Sugar-bush — He Wins his 
Bride — The Mystery about the Blanket — A City that is always a 
Novelty — Home Again 425 



APPENDIX 

A 435 

B 445 

C 448 

D 452 



LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI 



CHAPTER I 
THE RIVER AND ITS HISTORY 

The Mississippi is well worth reading about. It is not 
a commonplace river, but on the contrary is in all ways 
remarkable. Considering the Missouri its main branch, 
it is the longest river in the world — four thousand three 
hundred miles. It seems safe to say that it is also the 
crookedest river in the world, since in one part of its 
journey it uses up one thousand three hundred miles to 
cover the same ground that the crow would fly over in 
six hundred and seventy-five. It discharges three times 
as much water as the St. Lawrence, twenty-five times as 
much as the Rhine, and three hundred and thirty-eight 
times as much as the Thames. No other river has so 
vast a drainage-basin ; it draws its water supply from 
twenty-eight States and Territories ; from Delaware, on 
the Atlantic seaboard, and from all the country between 
that and Idaho on the Pacific slope — a spread of forty-five 
degrees of longitude. The Mississippi receives and 
carries to the Gulf water from fifty-four subordinate 
rivers that are navigable by steamboats, and from some 
hundreds that are navigable by flats and keels. The area 
of its drainage-basin is as great as the combined areas 
of England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, France, Spain, 
Portugal, Germany, Austria, Italy, and Turkey ; and 
almost all this wide region is fertile ; the Mississippi 
valley, proper, is exceptionally so. 



It is a remarkable river in this : that instead of widen- 
ing toward its mouth, it grows narrower ; grows narrower 
and deeper. From the junction of the Ohio to a point 
half-way down to the sea, the width averages a mile 
in high water ; thence to the sea the width steadily 
diminishes, until, at the "Passes," above the mouth, it 
is but little over half a mile. At the junction of the Ohio 
the Mississippi's depth is eighty-seven feet ; the depth 
increases gradually, reaching one hundred and twenty- 
nine just above the mouth. 

The difference in rise and fall is also remarkable — not 
in the upper, but in the lower river. The rise is tolerably 
uniform down to Natchez (three hundred and sixty miles 
above the mouth) — about fifty feet. But at Bayou La 
Fourche the river rises only twenty-four feet ; at New 
Orleans only fifteen, and just above the mouth only two 
and one-half. 

An article in the New Orleans Times-Democrat, based 
upon reports of able engineers, states that the river 
annually empties four hundred and six million tons of 
mud into the Gulf of Mexico — which brings to mind Cap- 
tain Marryat's rude name for the Mississippi — ''the 
Great Sewer." This mud, solidified, would make a mass. 
a mile square and two hundred and forty-one feet high. 

The mud deposit gradually extends the land — but only 
gradually ; it has extended it not quite a third of a mile 
in the two hundred years which have elapsed since the 
river took its place in history. The belief of the scien- 
tific people is that the mouth used to be at Baton Rouge, 
where the hills cease, and that the two hundred miles of 
land between there and the Gulf was built by the river. 
This gives us the age of that piece of country, without 
any trouble at all — one hundred and twenty thousand 
years. Yet it is much the youthfulest batch of country 
that lies around there anywhere. 



The Mississippi is remarkable in still another way — its 
disposition to make prodigious jumps by cutting through 
narrow necks of land, and thus straightening and shorten- 
ing itself. More than once it has shortened itself thirty 
miles at a single jump ! These cut-offs have had curious 
effects : they have thrown several river towns out into 
the rural districts, and built up sand-bars and forests in 
front of them. The town of Delta used to be three miles 
below Vicksburg ; a recent cut-off has radically changed 
the position, and Delta is now two miles above Vicksburg. 

Both of these river towns have been retired to the 
country by that cut-off. A cut-off plays havoc with 
boundary lines and jurisdictions : for instance, a man is 
living in the State of Mississippi to-day, a cut-off occurs 
to-night, and to-morrow the man finds himself and his 
land over on the other side of the river, within the 
boundaries and subject to the laws of the State of 
Louisiana ! Such a thing, happening in the upper river 
in the old times, could have transferred a slave from 
Missouri to Illinois and made a free man of him. 

The Mississippi does not alter its locality by cut-offs 
alone : it is always changing its habitat bodily — is always 
moving bodily sidezvise. At Hard Times, La., the river 
is two miles west of the region it used to occupy. As a 
result, the original site of that settlement is not now in 
Louisiana at all, but on the other side of the river, in the 
State of Mississippi. Neaidy the whole of that one thousand 
three hundred miles of old Mississippi River which La Salle 
floated down in his canoes^ two hundred years ago, is good solid 
dry ground now. The river lies to the right of it, in places, 
and to the left of it in other places. 

Although the Mississippi's mud builds land but slowly, 
down at the mouth, where the Gulf's billows interfere with 
its work, it builds fast enough in better protected regions 
higher up: for instance. Prophet's Island contained one 



thousand five hundred acres of land thirty years ago; 
since then the river has added seven hundred acres to it. 

But enough of these examples of the mighty stream's 
eccentricities for the present — I will give a few more of 
them further along in the book. 

Let us drop the Mississippi's physical history, and say 
a word about its historical history — so to speak. We can 
glance briefly at its slumbrous first epoch in a couple of 
short chapters; at its second and wider-awake epoch in a 
couple more; at its flushest and w^idest-aw^ake epoch in a 
good many succeeding chapters; and then talk about its 
comparatively tranquil present epoch in what shall be 
left of the book. 

The world and the books are so accustomed to use, 
and over-use, the word ''new" in connection with our 
country, that we early get and permanently retain the 
impression that there is nothing old about it. We do of 
course know that there are several comparatively old 
dates in American history, but the mere figures conve}^ 
to our minds no just idea, no distinct realization, of the 
stretch of time which they represent. To say that De 
.Soto, the first white man who ever saw the Mississippi 
River, saw it in 1542, is a remark which states a fact 
without interpreting it: it is something like giving the 
dimensions of a sunset by astronomical measurements, 
and cataloguing the colors by their scientific names — 
as a result, you get the bald fact of the sunset, but you 
don't see the sunset. It would have been better to paint 
a picture of it. 

The date 1542, standing by itself, means little or noth- 
ing to us; but when one groups a few" neighboring his- 
torical dates and facts around it, he adds perspective and 
color, and then realizes that this is one of the American 
dates which is quite respectable for age. 

For instance, when the Mississippi was first seen by a 



white man, less than a quarter of a century had elapsed 
since Francis I.'s defeat at Pavia; the death of Raphael; 
the death of Bayard, sans peitr et sans reproche j the driving 
out of the Knights-Hospitallers from Rhodes by the 
Turks; and the placarding of the Ninety-five Proposi- 
tions — the act which began the Reformation. When De 
Soto took his glimpse of the river, Ignatius Loyola was 
an obscure name; the order of the Jesuits was not yet a 
year old; Michael Angelo's paint was not yet dry on the 
''Last Judgment " in the Sistine Chapel ; Mary Queen of 
Scots was not yet born, but would be before the year 
closed. Catherine de Medici was a child; Elizabeth of 
England was not yet in her teens; Calvin, Benvenuto 
Cellini, and the Emperor Charles V. were at the top of 
their fame, and each was manufacturing history after his 
own peculiar fashion; Margaret of Navarre was wTiting 
the '' Heptameron " and some religious books — the first 
survives, the others are forgotten, wit and indelicacy 
being sometimes better literature-preservers than holi- 
ness; lax court morals and the absurd chivalry business 
were in full feather, and the joust and the tournament 
were the frequent pastime of titled fine gentlemen w4io 
could fight better than they could spell, while religion 
was the passion of their ladies, and the classifying their 
offspring into children of full rank and children by brevet 
their pastime. In fact, all around, religion was in a 
peculiarly blooming condition: the Council of Trent was 
being called; the Spanish Inquisition was roasting, and 
racking, and burning, with a free hand; elsewhere on the 
Continent the nations were being persuaded to holy liv- 
ing by the sword and fire; in England, Henry VIII. had 
suppressed the monasteries, burned Fisher and another 
bishop or two, and was getting his English Reformation 
and his harem effectively started. When De Soto stood 
on the banks of the Mississippi, it was still two years 



before Luther's death; eleven years before the burning 
of Servetus; thirty years before the St. Bartholomew 
slaughter; Rabelais was not yet published; ''Don 
Quixote" was not yet written; Shakspere was not yet 
born; a hundred long years must still elapse before 
Englishmen would hear the name of Oliver Cromwell. 

Unquestionably the discovery of the Mississippi is a 
datable fact which considerably mellows and modifies the 
shiny newness of our country, and gives her a most 
respectable outside aspect of rustiness and antiquity. 

De Soto merely glimpsed the river, then died and was 
buried in it by his priests and soldiers. One would 
expect the priests and the soldiers to multiply the river's 
dimensions by ten — the Spanish custom of the day — and 
thus move other adventurers to go at once and explore 
it. On the contrary, their narratives, when they reached 
home, did not excite that amount of curiosity. The 
Mississippi was left unvisited by whites during a term of 
years which seems incredible in our energetic days. One 
may "sense " the interval to his mind, after a fashion, by 
dividing it up in this way: after De Soto glimpsed the 
river, a fraction short of a quarter of a century elapsed, 
and then Shakspere was born; lived a trifle more than 
half a century, then died; and when he had been in his 
grave considerably more than half a century, the second 
white man saw the Mississippi. In our day we don't 
allow a hundred and thirty years to elapse between 
glimpses of a marvel. If somebody should discover a 
creek in the county next to the one that the North Pole 
is in, Europe and America would start fifteen costly 
expeditions thither; one to explore the creek, and the 
other fourteen to hunt for each other. 

For more than a hundred and fifty years there had 
been white settlements on our Atlantic coasts. These 
people were in intimate communication with the Indians: 



in the south the Spaniards were robbing, slaughtering, 
enslaving, and converting them; higher up, the English 
were trading beads and blankets to them for-a considera- 
tion, and throwing in civilization and whiskey, "for lag- 
niappe";* and in Canada the French were schooling 
them in a rudimentary way, missionarying among them, 
and drawing whole populations of them at a time to 
Quebec, and later to Montreal, to buy furs of them. 
Necessarily, then, these various clusters of whites must 
have heard of the great river of the Far West; and indeed, 
they did hear of it vaguely — so vaguely and indefinitely 
that its course, proportions, and locality were hardly even 
guessable. The mere mysteriousness of the matter ought 
to have fired curiosity and compelled exploration ; but 
this did not occur. Apparently nobody happened to 
want such a river, nobody needed it, nobody was curious 
about it; so, for a century and a half the Mississippi 
remained out of the market and undisturbed. When De 
Soto found it, he w^as not hunting for a river, and had no 
present occasion for one; consequently, he did not value 
it or even take any particular notice of it. 

But at last La Salle, the Frenchman, conceived the idea 
of seeking out that river and exploring it. It always 
happens that when a man seizes upon a neglected and 
important idea, people inflamed with the same notion 
crop up all around. It happened so in this instance. 

Naturally the question suggests itself, Why did these 
people want the river now when nobody had wanted it 
in the five preceding generations ? Apparently it was 
because at this late day they thought they had discovered 
a way to make it useful; for it had come to be believed 
that the Mississippi emptied into the Gulf of California, 
and therefore afforded a short cut from Canada to China. 
Previously the supposition had been that it emptied into 
the Atlantic, or Sea of Virginia. 

*See p. 316. 



CHAPTER II 
THE RIVER AND ITS EXPLORERS 

La Salle himself sued for certain high privileges, and 
they were graciously accorded him by Louis XIV. of 
inflated memory. Chief among them was the privilege 
to explore, far and wide, and build forts, and stake out 
continents, and hand the same over to the king, and pay 
the expenses himself; receiving, in return, some little 
advantages of one sort or another; among them the 
monopoly of buffalo hides. He spent several years, and 
about all of his money, in making perilous and painful 
trips between Montreal and a fort which he had built on 
the Illinois, before he at last succeeded in getting his 
expedition in such a shape that he could strike for the 
Mississippi. 

And meantime other parties had had better fortune. 
In 1673 Joliet the merchant, and Marquette the priest, 
crossed the country and reached the banks of the Missis- 
sippi. They went by way of the Great Lakes; and from 
Green Bay, in canoes, by the way of Fox River and the 
Wisconsin. Marquette had solemnly contracted, on the 
feast of the Immaculate Conception, that if the Virgin 
would permit him to discover the great river, he would 
name it Conception, in her honor. He kept his word. 
In that day, all explorers travelled with an outfit of 
priests. De Soto had twenty-four with him. La Salle 
had several, also. The expeditions were often out of 
meat, and scant of clothes, but they always had the 
furniture and other requisites for the mass; they were 



always prepared, as one of the quaint chronicles of the 
time phrased it, to "explain hell to the salvages." 

On the 17th of June, 1673, the canoes of Joliet and 
Marquette and their five subordinates reached the 
junction of the Wisconsin with the Mississippi. Mr. 
Parkman says: "Before them a wide and rapid current 
coursed athwart their way, by the foot of lofty heights 
wrapped thick in forests." He continues: "Turning 
southward, they paddled down the stream, through a 
solitude unrelieved by the faintest trace of .man." 

A big cat-fish collided with Marquette's canoe, and 
startled him; and reasonably enough, for he had been 
warned by the Indians that he was on a foolhardy 
journey, and even a fatal one, for the river contained 
a demon "whose roar could be heard at a great distance, 
and who would engulf them in the abyss where he dwelt." 
I have seen a Mississippi cat-fish that was more than six 
feet long, and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds; 
and if Marquette's fish was the fellow to that one, he 
had a fair right to think the river's roaring demon 

was come. 

i 

At length the buffalo began to appear, grazing in herds on the 
great prairies which then bordered the river ; and Marquette 
describes the fierce and stupid look of the old bulls as they stared 
at the intruders through the tangled mane which nearly blinded 
them. 

The voyagers moved cautiously: 

Landed at night and made a tire to cook their evening meal ; then 
extinguished it, embarked again, paddled some way farther, and 
anchored in the stream, keeping a man on the watch till morning. 

They did this day after day and night after night; and 
at the end of two weeks they had not seen a human 



being. The river was an awful solitude, then. And it 
is now, over most of its stretch. 

But at the close of the fortnight they one day came upon 
the footprints of men in the mud of the western bank — 
a Robinson Crusoe experience which carries an electric 
shiver with it yet, when one stumbles on it in print. 
They had been warned that the river Indians were as 
ferocious and pitiless as the river demon, and destroyed 
all comers without waiting for provocation; but no 
matter, Joliet and Marquette struck into the country 
to hunt up the proprietors of the tracks. They found 
them by and by, and were hospitably received and well 
treated — if to be received by an Indian chief who has 
taken off his last rag in order to appear at his level best 
is to be received hospitably; and if to be treated abun- 
dantly to fish, porridge, and other game, including dog, 
and have these things forked into one's mouth by the 
ungloved fingers of Indians, is to be well treated. In the 
morning the chief and six hundred of his tribesmen 
escorted the Frenchmen to the river and bade them a 
friendly farewell. 

On the rocks above the present city of Alton they 
found some rude and fantastic Indian paintings, which 
they describe. A short distance below '*a torrent of 
yellow mud rushed furiously athwart the calm blue cur- 
rent of the Mississippi, boiling and surging and sweeping 
in its course logs, branches, and uprooted trees." This 
was the mouth of the Missouri, 'Hhat savage river," 
which ''descending from its mad career through a vast 
unknown of barbarism, poured its turbid floods into the 
bosom of its gentle sister." 

By and by they passed the mouth of the Ohio; they 
passed canebrakes; they fought mosquitoes; they floated 
along, day after day, through the deep silence and loneli- 
ness of the river, drowsing in the scant shade of make- 



shift awnings, and broiling with the heat ; they en- 
countered and exchanged civilities with another party 
of Indians; and at last they reached the mouth of the 
Arkansas (about a month out from their starting-point), 
where a tribe of war-whooping savages swarmed out to 
meet and murder them; but they appealed to the Virgin 
for help; so in place of a fight there was a feast, and 
plenty of pleasant palaver and fol-de-rol. 

They had proved to their satisfaction that the Missis- 
sippi did not empty into the Gulf of California, or into 
the Atlantic. They believed it emptied into the Gulf of 
Mexico. They turned back now, and carried their 
great news to Canada. 

But belief is not proof. It was reserved for La Salle 
to furnish the proof. He was provokingly delayed by one 
misfortune after another, but at last got his expedition 
under way at the end of the year 1681. In the dead of 
winter he and Henri de Tonty, son of Lorenzo Tonty, 
who invented the tontine, his lieutenant, started down 
the Illinois, with a following of eighteen Indians brought 
from New England, and twenty-three Frenchmen. They 
moved in procession down the surface of the frozen 
river, on foot, and dragging their canoes after them on 
sledges. 

At Peoria Lake they struck open water, and paddled 
thence to the Mississippi and turned their prows south- 
ward. They ploughed through the fields of floating ice, 
past the mouth of the Missouri; past the mouth of the 
Ohio, by and by; ''and, gliding by the wastes of border- 
ing swamp, landed on the 24th of February near the 
Third Chickasaw Bluffs," v;here they halted and built 
Fort Prudhomme. 

''Again," says Mr. Parkman, "they embarked; and 
with every stage of their adventurous progress, the 
mystery of this vast new world was more and more 



12 



unveiled. More and more they entered the realms of 
spring. The hazy sunlight, the warm and drowsy air, 
the tender foliage, the opening flowers, betokened the 
reviving life of nature." 

Day by day they floated down the great bends, in the 
shadow of the dense forests, and in time arrived at the 
mouth of the Arkansas. First they were greeted by the 
natives of this locality as Marquette had before been 
greeted by them — with the booming of the war-drum 
and the flourish of arms. The Virgin composed the 
difficulty in Marquette's case; the pipe of peace did the 
same office for La Salle. The white man and the red 
man struck hands and entertained each other during 
three days. Then, to the admiration of the savages, La 
Salle set up a cross with the arms of France on it, and 
took possession of the whole country for the king, — the 
cool fashion of the time, — while the priest piously conse- 
crated the robbery with a hymn. The priest explained 
the mysteries of the faith ''by signs," for the saving 
of the savages; thus compensating them w^ith possible 
possessions in heaven for the certain ones on earth 
which they had just been robbed of. And also, by signs, 
La Salle drew from these simple children of the forest 
acknowledgments of fealty to Louis the Putrid, over the 
water. Nobody smiled at these colossal ironies. 

These performances took place on the site of the 
future town of Napoleon, Ark., and there the first confis- 
cation cross was raised on the banks of the great river. 
Marquette's and Joliet's voyage of discovery ended at the 
same spot — the site of the future town of Napoleon. When 
De Soto took his fleeting glimpse of the river, away back 
in the dim early days, he took it from that same spot — 
the site of the future town of Napoleon, Ark. There- 
fore, three out of the four memorable events con- 
nected with the discovery and exploration of the mighty 



13 



river occurred, by accident, in one and the same place. 
It is a most curious distinction, when one comes to look 
at it and think about it. France stole that vast country 
on that spot, the future Napoleon ; and by and by 
Napoleon himself was to give the country back again — 
make restitution, not to the owners, but to their white 
American heirs. 

The voyagers journeyed on, touching here and there; 
''passed the sites, since become historic, of Vicksburg 
and Grand Gulf; " and visited an imposing Indian mon- 
arch in the Teche country, whose capital city was a sub- 
stantial one of sun-baked bricks mixed with straw — better 
houses than many that exist there now. The chiefs 
house contained an audience room forty feet square; and 
there he received Tonty in state, surrounded by sixty 
old men clothed in white cloaks. There was a temple in 
the town, with a mud wall about it ornamented with 
skulls of enemies sacrificed to the sun. 

The voyagers visited the Natchez Indians, near the 
site of the present city of that name, where they found 
a "religious and political depotism, a privileged class 
descended from the sun, a temple, and a sacred fire." 
It must have been like getting home again; it was home 
again ; it was home with an advantage, in fact, for it 
lacked Louis XIV. 

A few more days swept swiftly by, and La Salle stood 
in the shadow of his confiscating cross, at the meeting of 
the waters from Delaware, and from Itaska, and from the 
mountain ranges close upon the Pacific, with the waters 
of the Gulf of Mexico, his task finished, his prodigy 
achieved. Mr. Parkman, in closing his fascinating nar- 
rative, thus sums up: 

On that day the realm of France received on parchment a 
stupendous accession. The fertile plains of Texas ; the vast basin 



14 



of the Mississippi, from its frozen northern springs to the sultry- 
borders of the Gulf ; from the woody ridges of the Alleghanies to 
the bare peaks of the Rocky Mountains — a region of savannas 
and forests, sun-cracked deserts and grassy prairies, watered by a 
thousand rivers, ranged by a thousand warlike tribes, passed 
beneath the sceptre of the Sultan of Versailles ; and all by virtue 
of a feeble human voice, inaudible at half a mile. 



CHAPTER III 

FRESCOS FROM THE PAST 

Apparently the river was ready for business, now. 
But no; the distribution of a population along its banks 
was as calm and deliberate and time-devouring a process 
as the discovery and exploration had been. 

Seventy years elapsed after the exploration before 
the river's borders had a white population worth con- 
sidering ; and nearly fifty more before the river had a 
commerce. Between La Salle's opening of the river and 
the time when it may be said to have become the vehicle 
of any thing like a regular and active commerce, seven 
sovereigns had occupied the throne of England, America 
had become an independent nation, Louis XIV. and 
Louis XV. had rotted and died, the French monarchy 
had gone down in the red tempest of the Revolution, and 
Napoleon was a name that was beginning to be talked 
about. Truly, there were snails in those days. 

The river's earliest commerce was in great barges — 
keel-boats, broadhorns. They floated and sailed from 
the upper rivers to New Orleans, changed cargoes there, 
and were tediously warped and poled back by hand. A 
voyage down and back sometimes occupied nine months. 
In time this commerce increased until it gave employ- 
ment to hordes of rough and hardy men; rude, unedu- 
cated, brave, suffering terrific hardships with sailor-like 
stoicism; heavy drinkers, coarse frolickers in moral sties 
like the Natchez-under-the-hill of that day, heavy fighters, 
reckless fellows, every one, elephantinely jolly, foul- 
witted, profane; prodigal of their money, bankrupt at the 



i6 



end of the trip, fond of barbaric finery, prodigious brag- 
garts; yet, in the main, honest, trustworthy, faithful to 
promises and duty, and often picturesquely magnanimous. 

By and by the steamboat intruded. Then, for fifteen 
or twenty years, these men continued to run their keel- 
boats down-stream, and the steamers did all of the up- 
stream business, the keelboatmen selling their boats in 
New Orleans, and returning home as deck passengers in 
the steamers. 

But after a while the steamboats so increased in num- 
ber and in speed that they were able to absorb the entire 
commerce; and then keelboating died a permanent death. 
The keelboatman became a deck-hand, or a mate, or a 
pilot on the steamer; and when steamer-berths were not 
open to him, he took a berth on a Pittsburg coal-flat, or 
on a pine-raft constructed in the forests up toward the 
sources of the Mississippi. 

In the heyday of the steamboating prosperity, the river 
from end to end was flaked with coal-fleets and timber 
rafts, all managed by hand, and employing hosts of the 
rough characters whom I have been trying to describe. 
I remember the annual processions of mighty rafts that 
used to glide by Hannibal when I was a boy, — an acre or 
so of white, sweet-smelling boards in each raft, a crew of 
two dozen men or more, three or four wigwams scattered 
about the raft's vast level space for storm-quarters, — and 
I remember the rude ways and the tremendous talk of 
their big crews, the ex-keelboatmen and their admiringly 
patterning successors; for we used to swim out a quarter 
or third of a mile and get on these rafts and have a ride. 

By way of illustrating keelboat talk and manners, and 
that now departed and hardly remembered raft-life, I will 
throw in, in this place, a chapter from a book which I have 
been working at, by fits and starts, during the past five or 
six years, and may possibly finish in the course of five 



17 



or six more. The book is a story which details some 
passages in the life of an ignorant village boy, Huck Finn, 
son of the town drunkard of my time out West, there. 
He has run away from his persecuting father, and from a 
persecuting good widow who wishes to make a nice, truth- 
telling, respectable boy of him ; and with him a slave of 
the widow's has also escaped. They have found a frag- 
ment of a lumber raft (it is high water and dead summer 
time), and are floating down the river by night, and hid- 
ing in the willows by day — bound for Cairo, whence the 
negro will seek freedom in the heart of the free States. 
But, in a fog, they pass Cairo without knowing it. By- 
and-by they begin to suspect the truth, and Huck Finn 
is persuaded to end the dismal suspense by swimming 
down to a huge raft which they have seen in the distance 
ahead of them, creeping aboard under cover of the dark- 
ness, and gath6ring the needed information by eaves- 
dropping : 

But you know a young person can't wait very well when he is 
impatient to find a thing out. We talked it over, and by and by 
Jim said it was such a black night, now, that it wouldn't be no risk 
to swim down to the big raft and crawl aboard and listen — they 
would talk about Cairo, because they would be calculating to go 
ashore there for a spree, maybe; or any way they would send boats 
ashore to buy whiskey or fresh meat or something. Jim had a 
wonderful level, head, for a nigger : he could most always start 
a good plan when you wanted one. 

I stood up and shook my rags off and jumped into the river, and 
struck out for the raft's light. By and by, when I got down nearly 
to her, I eased up and went slow and cautious. But every thing 
was all right — nobody at the sweeps. So I swum down along the 
raft till I was most abreast the camp fire in the middle, then 
I crawled aboard and inched along and got in among some 
bundles of shingles on the weather side of the fire. There was 
thirteen men there — they was the watch on deck of course. And 
a mighty rough-looking lot, too. They had a jug, and tin cups, 



and they kept the jug moving. One man was singing — roaring, 
you may say ; and it wasn't a nice song — for a parlor, any way. He 
roared through his nose, and strung out the last word of every line 
very long. When he was done they all fetched a kind of Injun 
war-whoop, and then another was sung. It begun : 

" There was a woman in our towdn, 
In our towdn did dwed'l [dwell], 
She loved her husband dear-i-lee, 
But another man twyste as wed'l. 

" Singing too, riloo, riloo, riloo, 

Ri-too, riloo, rilay e, 

She loved her husband dear-i-lee. 
But another man twyste as wed'l." 

And SO on — fourteen verses. It was kind of poor, and when he 
was going to start on the next verse one of them said it was the 
tune the old cow died on ; and another one said, " Oh, give us 
a rest ! " And another one told him to take a walk. They made 
fun of him till he got mad and jumped up and begun to cuss the 
crowd, and said he could lam any thief in the lot. 

They was all about to make a break for him, but the biggest 
man there jumped up and says : 

" Set whar you are, gentlemen. Leave him to me ; he's my 
meat." 

Then he jumped up in the air three times and cracked his heels 
together every time. He flung off a buckskin coat that was all 
hung with fringes, and says, " You lay thar tell the chawin-up's 
done ; " and flung his hat down, which was all over ribbons, and 
says, " You lay thar tell his sufferin's is over." 

Then he jumped up in the air and cracked his heels together 
again and shouted out : 

" Whoo-oop ! I'm the old original iron-jawed, brass-mounted, 
copper-bellied corpse-maker from the wilds of Arkansaw ! Look 
at me ! I'm the man they call Sudden Death and General Desola- 
tion ! Sired by a hurricane, dam'd by an earthquake, half-brother 
to the cholera, nearly related to the small-pox on the mother's side ! 
Look at me ! I take nineteen alligators and a bar'l of whiskey for 
breakfast when I'm in robust health, and a bushel of rattle-snakes 
and a dead body when I'm ailing ! I split the everlasting rocks 



19 



with my glance, and I squench the thunder when I speak ! 
Whoo-oop ! Stand back and give me room according to my 
strength ! Blood's my natural drink, and the wails of the dying is 
music to my ear ! Cast your eye on me, gentlemen ! and lay low 
and hold your breath, for I'm 'bout to turn myself loose ! " 

All the time he was getting this off, he w^as shaking his head and 
looking tierce, and kind of swelling around in a little circle, tucking 
up his wrist-bands, and now and then straightening up and beating 
his breast with his fist, saying, " Look at me, gentlemen ! " When 
he got through, he jumped up and cracked his heels together three 
times, and let off a roaring " Whoo-oop ! I'm the bloodiest son of 
a wildcat that lives ! " 

Then the man that had started the row tilted his old slouch hat 
down over his right eye ; then he bent stooping forward, with his 
back sagged and his south end sticking out far, and his fists 
a-shoving out and drawing in in front of him, and so went around 
in a little circle about three times, swelling himself up and breath- 
ing hard. Then he straightened, and jumped up and cracked his 
heels together three times before he lit again (that made them 
cheer), and he begun to shout like this : 

" Whoo-oop ! bow your neck and spread, for the kingdom of 
sorrow's a-coming ! Hold me down to the earth, for I feel my 
powers a-working ! whoo-oop ! I'm achild of sm, don't let me get 
a start ! Smoked glass, here, for all ! Don't attempt to look at 
me with the naked eye, gentlemen ! When I'm playful I use the 
meridians of longitude and parallels of latitude for a seine, and 
drag the Atlantic Ocean for whales ! I scratch my head with the 
lightning and purr myself to sleep with the thunder ! When I'm 
cold, I bile the Gulf of Mexico and bathe in it ; when I'm hot I fan 
myself with an equinoctial storm ; when I'm thirsty I reach up and 
suck a cloud dry like a sponge ; when I range the earth hungry, 
famine follows in my tracks ! Whoo-oop ! Bow your neck and 
spread ! I put my hand on the sun's face and make it night in the 
earth ; I bite a piece out of the moon and hurry the seasons ; 
I shake myself and crumble the mountains ! Contemplate me 
through leather— rt't?;?'/ use the naked eye! I'm the man with 
a petrified heart and biler-iron bowels ! The massacre of isolated 
communities is the pastime of my idle moments, the destruction 
of nationalities the serious business of my life ! The boundless 



vastness of the great American desert is my enclosed property, and 
I bury my dead on my own premises ! " He jumped up and 
cracked his heels together three times before he lit (they cheered 
him again), and as he come down he shouted out : " Whoo-oop ! 
bow your neck and spread, for the Pet Child of Calamity's 
a-coming ! " 

Then the other one went to swelling around and blowing again — 
the first one — the one they called Bob ; next, the Child of Calamity 
chipped in again, bigger than ever ; then they both got at it at the 
same time, swelling round and round each other and punching their 
fists most into each other's faces, and whooping and jawing like 
Injuns ; then Bob called the Child names, and the Child called him 
names back again : next, Bob called him a heap rougher names, 
and the Child come back at him with the very worst kind of lan- 
guage ; next. Bob knocked the Child's hat off, and the Child picked 
it up and kicked Bob's ribbony hat about six foot ; Bob went and 
got it and said never mind, this warn't going to be the last of this 
thing, because he was a man that never forgot and never forgive, 
and so the Child better look out, for there was a time a-coming, 
just as sure as he was a living man, that he would have to answer 
to him with the best blood in his body. The Child said no man 
was willinger than he for that time to come, and he would 
give Bob fair warning, now, never to cross his path again, for he 
could never rest till he had waded in his blood, for such w^as his 
nature, though he was sparing him now on account of his family, 
if he had one. 

Both of them was edging away in different directions, growling 
and shaking their heads and going on about what they was going 
to do ; but a little black-whiskered chap skipped up and says : 

" Come back here, you couple of chicken-livered cowards, and 
I'll thrash the two of ye ! " 

And he done it, too. He snatched them, he jerked them this 
way and that, he booted them around, he knocked them sprawling 
faster than they could get up. Why, it warn't two minutes till 
they begged like dogs — and how the other lot did yell and laugh 
and clap their hands all the way through, and shout " Sail in, 
Corpse-Maker ! " " Hi ! at him again, Child of Calamity ! " " Bully 
for you, little Davy ! " Well, it was a perfect pow-wow for 
a while. Bob and the Child had red noses and black eyes when 



21 



they got through. Little Davy made them own up that they was 
sneaks and cowards and not fit to eat with a dog or drink with 
a nigger ; then Bob and the Child shook hands with each other, 
very solemn, and said they had always respected each other and was 
willing to let bygones be bygones. So then they washed their faces 
in the river ; and just then there was a loud order to stand by for a 
crossing, and some of them went forward to man the sweeps there, 
and the rest went aft to handle the after sweeps. 

I lay still and waited for fifteen minutes, and had a smoke out 
of a pipe that one of them left in reach ; then the crossing was 
finished, and they stumped back and had a drink around and went 
to talking and singing again. Next they got out an old fiddle, 
and one played, and another patted juba, and the rest turned 
themselves loose on a regular old-fashioned keelboat break-down. 
They couldn't keep that up very long without getting winded, so 
by and by they settled around the jug again. 

They sung " Jolly, Jolly Raftsman's the Life for Me," with a 
rousing chorus, and then they got to talking about differences 
betwixt hogs, and their different kind of habits ; and next about 
women and their different ways ; and next about the best ways to 
put out houses that was afire ; and next about what ought to be 
done w'ith the Injuns; and next about what a king had to do, and 
how much he got; and next about how to make cats fight ; and 
next about what to do when a man has fits ; and next about differ- 
ences betwixt clear-water rivers and muddy-water ones. The 
man they called Ed said the muddy Mississippi water was whole- 
somer to drink than the clear water of the Ohio ; he said if you let 
a pint of this yaller Mississippi water settle, you would have about 
a half to three-quarters of an inch of mud in the bottom, accord- 
ing to the stage of the river, and then it warn't n^ better than Ohio 
water — what you wanted to do was to keep it stirred up — and 
when the river was low% keep mud on hand to put in and thicken 
the water up the way it ought to be. 

The Child of Calamity said that was so ; he said there was nutri- 
tiousness in the mud, and a man that drunk Mississippi water 
could grow corn in his stomach if he wanted to. He says : 

"You look at the graveyards; that tells the tale. Trees won't 
grow worth shucks in a Cincinnati graveyard, but in a Sent Louis 
graveyard they grow upwards of eight hundred foot high. It's all 



22 



on account of the water the people drunk before they laid up. A 
Cincinnati corpse don't richen a soil any." 

And they talked about how Ohio water didn't like to mix with 
Mississippi water. Ed said if you take the Mississippi on a rise 
when the Ohio is low, you'll find a wide band of clear water all 
the way down the east side of the Mississippi for a hundred mile 
or more, and the minute you get out a quarter of a mile from 
shore and pass the line, it is all thick and yaller the rest of the way 
across. Then they talked about how to keep tobacco from getting 
mouldy, and from that they went into ghosts and told about a lot 
that other folks had seen ; but Ed says : 

"Why don't you tell something that you've seen yourselves? 
Now let me have a say. Five years ago I was on a raft as big as 
this, and right along here it was a bright moonshiny night, and I 
was on watch and boss of the stabboard oar forrard, and one of 
my pards was a man named Dick Allbright, and he come along to 
where I was sitting, forrard — gaping and stretching, he was — and 
stooped down on the edge of the raft and washed his face in the 
river, and come and set down by me and got out his pipe, and had 
just got it filled, when he looks up and says : 

" ' Why looky-here,' he says, ' ain't that Buck Miller's place, over 
yander in the bend ? ' 

" ' Yes,' says I, ' it is — why ? ' He laid his pipe down and leant 
his head on his hand, and says : 

" ' I thought we'd be furder down.' I says : 

*' ' I thought it too, when I went off watch ' — we was standing 
six hours on and six off — ' but the boys told me,' I says, ' that the 
raft didn't seem to hardly move, for the last hour,' says I, ' though 
she's a-slipping along all right, now,' says I. He give a kind of a 
groan, and says : 

" ' I've seed a raft act so before, along here,' he says, * 'pears to 
me the current has most quit above the head of this bend durin' 
the last two years,' he says. 

" Well, he raised up two or three times, and looked away off 
and around on the water. That started me at it too, A body is 
always doing what he sees somebody else doing, though there 
mayn't be no sense in it. Pretty soon I see a black something 
floating on the water away off to stabboard and quartering behind 
us. I see he was looking at it, too. I says : 



23 



" * What's that ? ' He says, sort of pettish : 

" ' Tain't nothing but an old empty bar'l.' 

" ' An empty bar'l ! ' says I, ' why,' says I, ' a spy-glass is a fool 
to your eyes. How can you tell it's an empty bar'l ? ' He says : 

" ' I don't know; I reckon it ain't a bar'l, but I thought it might 
be,' says he. 

" ' Yes,' I says, ' so it might be, and it might be any thing else, 
too ; a body can't tell nothing about it, such a distance as that,' 
I says. 

•' We hadn't nothing else to do, so we kept on watching it. By- 
and-by I says : 

" ' Why looky-here, Dick Allbright, that thing's a-gaining on us, 
I believe.' 

" He never said nothing. The thing gained and gained, and I 
judged it must be a dog that was about tired out. Well, we 
swung down into the crossing, and the thing floated across the 
bright streak of the moonshine, and, by George, it was a bar'). 
Says I : 

" ' Dick Allbright, what made you think that thing was a bar'l, 
when it was half a mile off } ' says I. Says he : 

" ' I don't know.' Says I : 

" ' You tell me, Dick Allbright.' He says : 

'" Well, I knowed it was a bar'l ; I've seen it before; lots has 
seen it ; they says it's a ha'nted bar'l." 

" I called the rest of the watch, and they come and stood there, 
and I told them what Dick said. It floated right along abreast, 
now, and didn't gain any more. It was about twenty foot off. 
Some was for having it aboard, but the rest didn't want to. Dick 
Allbright said rafts that had fooled with it had got bad luck by 
it. The captain of the watch said he didn't believe in it. He 
said he reckoned the bar'l gained on us because it was in a little 
better current than what we was. He said it would leave by- 
and-by. 

" So then we went to talking about other things, and we had a 
song, and then a break-down ; and after that the captain of the 
watch called for another song ; but it was clouding up, now, and 
the bar'l stuck right thar in the same place, and the song didn't 
seem to have much warm-up to it, somehow, and so they didn't 
finish it, and there warn't any cheers, but it sort of dropped fiat. 



24 



and nobody said any thing for a minute. Then every-body tried 
to talk at once, and one chap got off a joke, but it warn't no use, 
they didn't laugh, and even the chap that made the joke didn't 
laugh at it, which ain't usual. We all just settled down glum, and 
watched the bar'l, and was oneasy and oncomfortable. Well, sir, 
it shut down black and still, and then the wind began to moan 
around, and next the lightning began to play and the thunder to 
grumble. And pretty soon there was a regular storm, and in the 
middle of it a man that was running aft stumbled and fell and 
sprained his ankle so that he had to lay up. This made the boys 
shake their heads. And every time the lightning come, there was 
that bar'l with the blue lights winking around it. We was 
always on the look-out for it. But by-and-by, toward dawn, she 
was gone. When the day come we couldn't see her anywhere, 
and we warn't sorry, neither. 

" But next night about half-past nine, when there was songs and 
high jinks going on, here she comes again, and took her old roost 
on the stabboard side. There warn't no more high jinks. Every- 
body got solemn ; nobody talked ; you couldn't get any body to do 
any thing but set around moody and look at the bar'l. It begun 
to cloud up again. When the watch changed, the off watch 
stayed up, 'stead of turning in. The storm ripped and roared 
around all night, and in the middle of it another man tripped and 
sprained his ankle, and had to knock off. The bar'l left toward 
day, and nobody see it go. 

" Every-body was sober and down in the mouth all day. I don't 
mean the kind of sober that comes of leaving liquor alone — not 
that. They was quiet, but they all drunk more than usual— not 
together, but each man sidled off and took it private, by himself. 

" After dark the off watch didn't turn in ; nobody sung, nobody 
talked; the boys didn't scatter around, neither; they sort of 
huddled together, forrard ; and for two hours they set there, 
perfectly still, looking steady in the one direction, and heaving a 
sigh once in a while. And then, here comes the bar'l again. She 
took up her old place. She stayed there all night ; nobody turned 
in. The storm come on again, after midnight. It got awful 
dark ; the rain poured down ; hail, too ; the thunder boomed and 
roared and bellowed; the wind blowed a hurricane; and the light- 
ning spread over every thing in big sheets of glare, and showed 



25 



the whole raft as .plain as day ; and the river lashed up white as 
milk as far as you coukl see for miles, and there was that bar'l 
jiggering along, same as ever. The captain ordered the watch to 
man the after sweeps for a crossing, and nobody would go — no 
more sprained ankles for them, they said. They wouldn't even 
walk aft. Well then, just then the sky split wide open, with a 
crash, and the lightning killed two men of the after watch, and 
crippled two more. Crippled them how, say you } Why, sprained 
their ankles ! 

" The bar'l left in the dark betwixt lightnings, toward dawn. 
Well, not a body eat a bite at breakfast that morning. After that 
the men loafed around, in twos and threes, and talked low together. 
But none of them herded with Dick Allbright. They all give him 
the cold shake. If he come around where any of the men was, 
they split up and sidled away. They wouldn't man the sweeps 
with him. The captain had all the skiffs hauled up on the raft, 
alongside of his wigwam, and wouldn't let the dead men be took 
ashore to be planted ; he didn't believe a man that got ashore 
would come back ; and he was right. 

" After night come, you could see pretty plain that there was 
going to be trouble if that bar'l come again ; there was such a mut- 
tering going on. A good many wanted to kill Dick Allbright, 
because he'd seen the bar'l on other trips, and that had an ugly 
look. Some wanted to put him ashore. Some said, ' Let's all go 
ashore in a pile, if the bar'l comes again.' 

"This kind of whispers was still going on, the men being 
bunched together forrard watching for the bar'l. when lo and 
behold you ! here she comes again. Down she comes, slow and 
steady, and settles into her old tracks. You could 'a' heard a pin 
drop. Then up comes the captain, and says : 

" ' Boys, don't be a pack of children and fools ; 1 don't want this 
bar'l to be dogging us all the way to Orleans, ?.ndf ou don't : well, 
then, how's the best way to stop it ? Burn it up— that's the way. 
I'm going to fetch it aboard,' he says. And before any body could 
say a word, in he went. 

" He swum to it, and as he come pushing it to the raft, the men 
spread to one side. But the old man got it aboard and busted in 
the head, and there was a baby in it ! Yes, sir ; a stark-naked 
baby. It was Di^k Allbright's baby ; he owned up and said so. 



26 



" ' Yes,' he says, a-leaning over it, ' yes, it is my own lamented 
darling, my poor lost Charles William AUbright deceased,' says 
he — for he could curl his tongue around the bulliest words in the 
language when he was a mind to, and lay them before you with- 
out a jint started, anywheres. Yes, he said, he used to live up at 
the head of this bend, and one night he choked his child, which 
was crying, not intending to kill it, — which was prob'ly a lie, — and 
then he was scared, and buried it in a bar'l, before his wife got 
home, and off he went, and struck the northern trail and went to 
rafting ; and this was the third year that the bar'l had chased him. 
He said the bad luck always begun light, and lasted till four men 
was killed, and then the bar'l didn't come any more, after that. He 
said if the men would stand it one more night, — and was a-going 
on like that, — but the men had got enough. They started to get 
out a boat to take him ashore and lynch him, but he grabbed the 
little child all of a sudden and jumped overboard with it hugged 
up to his breast and shedding tears, and we never see him again 
in this life, poor old suffering soul, nor Charles William neither." 

" J^/^^ was shedding tears .^ " says Bob; "was it AUbright or 
the baby ? " 

" Why, AUbright, of course ; didn't I tell you the baby was 
dead ? Been dead three years — how could it cry ? " 

"Well, never mind how it could cry — how could it ^ee_p all that 
time.^ " says Davy. "You answer me that." 

" I don't know how it done it," says Ed. " It done it though — 
that's all I know about it." 

" Say — what did they do with the bar'l ? " says the Child of 
Calamity. 

" Why, they hove it overboard, and it sunk like a chunk of lead." 

" Edward, did the child look like it was choked ? " says one. 

" Did it have its hair parted ? " says another. 

" What was the brand on that bar'l, Eddy ? " says a fellow they 
called Bill. 

" Have you got the papers for them statistics, Edmund ? " says 
Jimmy. 

" Say, Edwin, was you one of the men that was killed by the 
lightning ? " says Davy. 

" Him ? Oh, no ! he was both of 'em," says Bob. Then they all 
haw-hawed. 



27 



" Say, Edward, don't you reckon you'd better take a pill ? You 
look bad — don't you feel pale ? " says the Child of Calamity. 

" Oh, come, now, Eddy," says Jimmy, " show up ; you must 'a' 
kept part of that bar'l to prove the thing by. Show us the bung- 
hole — do — and we'll all believe you." 

" Say, boys," says Bill, " less divide it up. Thar's thirteen of us. 
I can swaller a thirteenth of the yarn, if you can worry down the 
rest." 

Ed got up mad and said they could all go to some place which 
he ripped out pretty savage, and then walked off aft, cussing to 
himself, and they yelling and jeering at him, and roaring and 
laughing so you could hear them a mile. 

" Boys, we'll split a watermelon on that," says the Child of 
Calamity ; and he came rummaging around in the dark amongst 
the shingle bundles where I was, and put his hand on me. I was 
warm and soft and naked ; so he says " Ouch ! " and jumped back. 

" Fetch a lantern or a chunk of fire here, boys — there's a snake 
here as big as a cow I " 

So they run there with a lantern and crowded up and looked in 
on me. 

" Come out of that, you beggar ! " says one. 

" Who are you } " says another. 

" What are you after here ? Speak up prompt, or overboard 
you go." 

" Snake him out, boys. Snatch him out by the heels." 

I began to beg, and crept out amongst them trembling. They 
looked me over, wondering, and the Child of Calamity says : 

" A cussed thief ! Lend a hand and less heave him overboard ! " 

" No," says Big Bob, " less get out the paint-pot and paint him 
a sky-blue all over from head to heel, and f/icm heave him over ! " 

" Good ! that's it. Go for the paint, Jimmy." 

When the paint come, and Bob took the brush and was just 
going to begin, the others laughing and rubbing their hands, I 
begun to cry, and that sort of worked on Davy, and he says : 

" 'Vast there ! He's nothing but a cub. I'll paint the man 
that teches him ! " 

So I looked around on them, and some of them grumbled and 
growled, and Bob put down the paint, and the others didn't 
take it up. 



28 



•' Come here to the fire, and less see what you're up to here," 
says Dav^y. " Now set down there and give an account of your- 
self. How long have you been aboard here ? " 

" Not over a quarter of a minute, sir," says I. 

" How did you get dry so quick ? " 

"I don't know, sir. I'm always that way, mostly," 

** Oh, you are, are you ? What's your name ? " 

I warn't going to tell my name. I didn't know what to say, so 
I just says : 

" Charles William Allbright, sir." 

Then they roared — the whole crowd ; and I was mighty glad I 
said that, because, maybe, laughing would get them in a better 
humor. 

When they got done laughing, Davy says : 

" It won't hardly do, Charles William. You couldn't have 
growed this much in five year, and you was a baby when you come 
out of the bar'l, you know, and dead at that. Come, now, tell a 
straight story, and nobody '11 hurt you, if you ain't up to any thing 
wrong. What zs your name ? " 

" Aleck Hopkins, sir. Aleck James Hopkins." 

" Well, Aleck, where did you come from, here? " 

" From a trading scow. She lays up the bend yonder. I was 
born on her. Pap has traded up and down here all his life ;'and 
he told me to swim off here, because when you went by he said he 
would like to get some of you to speak to a Mr. Jonas Turner, in 
Cairo, and tell him " 

" Oh, come ! " 

" Yes, sir, it's as true as the world. Pap he says " 

" Oh, your grandmother ! " 

They all laughed, and I tried again to talk, but they broke in on 
me and stopped me. 

" Now, looky-here," says Davy ; " you're scared, and so you talk 
wild. Honest, now, do you live in a scow, or is it a lie ? " 

" Yes, sir, in a trading scow. She lays up at the head of the 
bend. But I warn't born in her. It's our first trip." 

"Now you're talking! What did you come aboard here, for? 
To steal ? " 

" No, sir, I didn't. It was only to get a ride on the raft. All 
boys does that," 



29 



" Well, I know that. But what did you hide for? " 

" Sometimes they drive the boys off." 

" So they do. They might steal. Looky-here ; if we let you ofT 
this time, will you keep out of these kind of scrapes hereafter ? " 

" 'Deed I will, boss. You try me." 

"All right, then. You ain't but little ways from shore. Over- 
board with you, and don't you make a fool of yourself another time 
this way. Blast it, boy, some raftsmen would rawhide you till you 
were black and blue ! " 

I didn't wait to kiss good-by, but went overboard and broke for 
shore. When Jim come along by and by, the big raft was away 
out of sight around the point. I swum out and got aboard, and 
was mighty glad to see home again. 

The boy did not get the information he was after, but 
his adventure has furnished the glimpse of the departed 
raftsman and keelboatman which I desire to offer in this 
place. 

I now come to a phase of the Mississippi River life of 
the flush times of steamboating, which seems to me to 
warrant full examination — the marvellous science of pilot- 
ing, as displayed there. I believe there has been nothing- 
like it elsewhere in the world. 



CHAPTER IV 
THE boys' ambition 

When I was a boy, there was but one permanent 
ambition among my comrades in our village* on the west 
bank of the Mississippi River. That was, to be a steam- 
boatman. We had transient ambitions of other sorts, but 
they were only transient. When a circus came and went, 
it left us all burning to become clowns; the first negro 
minstrel show that ever came to our section left us all 
suffering to try that kind of life; now and then we had a 
hope that, if we lived and were good, God would permit 
us to be pirates. These ambitions faded out, each in its 
turn; but the ambition to be a steamboatman always 
remained. 

Once a day a cheap, gaudy packet arrived upward from 
St. Louis, and another downward from Keokuk. Before 
these events, the day was glorious with expectancy; after 
them, the day was a dead and empty thing. Not only 
the boys, but the whole village, felt this. After all these 
years I can picture that old time to myself now, just as 
it w^as then : the white town drowsing in the sunshine of 
a summer's morning; the streets empty, or pretty nearly 
so; one or two clerks sitting in front of the Water Street 
stores, with their splint-bottomed chairs tilted back 
against the wall, chins on breasts, hats slouched over 
their faces, asleep — with shingle-shavings enough around 
to show what broke them down ; a sow and a litter of 
pigs loafing along the sidewalk, doing a good business in 
watermelon rinds and seeds; two or three lonely little 

* Hannibal, Mo. 



31 



freight piles scattered about the ''levee"; a pile of 
'^ skids " on the slope of the stone-paved wharf, and 
the fragrant town drunkard asleep in the shadow of 
them; two or three wood flats at the head of the wharf, 
but nobody to listen to the peaceful lapping of the wave- 
lets against them ; the great Mississippi, the majestic, 
the magnificent Mississippi, rolling its mile-wide tide 
along, shining in the sun; the dense forest away on the 
other side; the " point" above the town, and the '' point " 
below, bounding the river-glimpse and turning it into a 
sort of sea, and withal a very still and brilliant and lonely 
one. Presently a film of dark smoke appears above one 
of those remote "points"; instantly a negro drayman, 
famous for his quick eye and prodigious voice, lifts up the 
cry, " S-t-e-a-m-boat a-comin' ! " and the scene changes ! 
The town drunkard stirs, the clerks wake up, a furious 
clatter of drays follows, every house and store pours out 
a human contribution, and all in a twinkling the dead 
town is alive and moving. Drays, carts, men, boys, all 
go hurrying from many quarters to a common centre, the 
wharf. Assembled there, the people fasten their eyes 
upon the coming boat as upon a wonder they are seeing 
for the first time. And the boat is rather a handsome 
sight, too. She is long and sharp and trim and pretty; 
she has two tall, fancy-topped chimneys, with a gilded 
device of some kind swung between them; a fanciful 
pilot-house, all glass and ''gingerbread," perched on top' 
of the " texas " deck behind them; the paddle-boxes are 
gorgeous with a picture or with gilded rays above the 
boat's name : the boiler deck, the hurricane deck, and the 
texas deck are fenced and ornamented with clean white 
railings; there is a flag gallantly flying from the jack-staff; 
the furnace doors are open and the fires glaring bravely; 
the upper decks are black with passengers; the captain 
stands by the big bell, calm, imposing, the envy of all; 



32 



great volumes of the blackest smoke are rolling and 
tumbling out of the chimneys — a husbanded grandeur 
created with a bit of pitch pine just before arriving at a 
town; the crew are grouped on the forecastle; the broad 
stage is run far out over the port bow, and an envied 
deck-hand stands picturesquely on the end of it with a 
coil of rope in his hand; the pent steam is screaming 
through the gauge-cocks; the captain lifts his hand, a bell 
rings, the wheels stop; then they turn back, churning 
the water to foam, and the steamer is at rest. Then such 
a scramble as there is to get aboard, and to get ashore, 
and to take in freight and to discharge freight, all at one 
and the same time; and such a yelling and cursing as 
the mates facilitate it all with ! Ten minutes later the 
steamer is under way again, with no flag on the jack- 
staff and no black smoke issuing from the chimneys. 
After ten more minutes the town is dead again, and the 
town drunkard asleep by the skids once more. 

My father was a justice of the peace, and I supposed 
he possessed the power of life and death over all men, 
and could hang any body that offended him. This was 
distinction enough for me as a general thing; but the 
desire to be a steamboatman kept intruding, neverthe- 
less. I first wanted to be a cabin-boy, so that I could 
come out with a white apron on and shake a table-cloth 
over the side, where all my old comrades could see me; 
later I thought I would rather be the deck-hand who 
stood on the end of the stage-plank with the coil of rope 
in his hand, because he was particularly conspicuous. 
But these were only day-dreams — they were too heavenly 
to be contemplated as real possibilities. By and by one 
of our boys went away. He was not heard of for a long 
time. At last he turned up as apprentice engineer or 
*' striker " on a steamboat. This thing shook the bottom 
out of all my Sunday-school teachings. That boy had 



33 



been notoriously worldly, and I just the reverse; yet he 
was exalted to this eminence, and I left in obscurity and 
misery. There was nothing generous about this fellow 
in his greatness. He would always manage to have a 
rusty bolt to scrub while his boat tarried at our town, and 
he would sit on the inside guard and scrub it, where we 
all could see him and envy him and loathe him. And 
whenever his boat was laid up he would come home and 
swell around the town in his blackest and greasiest clothes, 
so that nobody could help remembering that he was a 
steamboatman; and he used all sorts of steamboat techni- 
calities in his talk, as if he were so used to them that he 
forgot common people could not understand them. He 
would speak of the " labboard " side of a horse in an easy, 
natural way that would make one wish he was dead. 
And he was always talking about '' St. Looy " like an old 
citizen; he would refer casually to occasions when he was 
''coming down Fourth Street," or when he was '' passing 
by the Planter's House," or when there was a fire and he 
took a turn on the brakes of "the old Big Missouri"; 
and then he would go on and lie about how many towns 
the size of ours were burned down there that day. Two 
or three of the boys had long been persons of considera- 
tion among us because they had been to St. Louis once 
and had a vague general knowledge of its wonders, but 
the day of their glory was over now. They lapsed into a 
humble silence, and learned to disappear when the ruth- 
less "cub "-engineer approached. This fellow had money, 
too, and hair oil. Also an ignorant silver watch and a 
showy brass watch-chain. He wore a leather belt and 
used no suspenders. If ever a youth was cordially ad- 
mired and hated by his comrades, this one was. No girl 
could withstand his charms. He "cut out " every boy 
in the village. When his boat blew up at last, it diffused 
a tranquil contentment among us such as we had not 
3 



34 



known for months. But when he came home the next 
week, alive, renowned, and appeared in church all bat- 
tered up and bandaged, a shining hero, stared at and 
wondered over by every-body, it seemed to us that the 
partiality of Providence for an undeserving reptile had 
reached a point where it was open to criticism. 

This creature's career could produce but one result, 
and it speedily followed. Boy after boy managed to get 
on the river. The minister's son became an engineer. 
The doctor's, and the post-master's sons became ''mud 
clerks"; the wholesale liquor-dealer's son became a bar- 
keeper on a boat; four sons of the chief merchant, and 
two sons of the county judge, became pilots. Pilot was 
the grandest position of all. The pilot, even in those 
days of trivial wages, had a princely salary — from a hun- 
dred and fifty to two hundred and fifty dollars a month, 
and no board to pay. Two months of his wages would 
pay a preacher's salary for a year. Now some of us were 
left disconsolate. We could not get on the river — at 
least our parents would not let us. 

So, by and by, I ran away. I said I would never come 
home again till I was a pilot and could come in glory. 
But somehow I could not manage it. I went meekly 
aboard a few of the boats that lay packed together like 
sardines at the long St. Louis wharf, and humbly enquired 
for the pilots, but got only a cold shoulder and short 
words from mates and clerks. I had to make the best of 
this sort of treatment for the time being, but I had com- 
forting day-dreams of a future when I should be a great 
and honored pilot, with plenty of money, and could kill 
some of these mates and clerks and pay for them. 



CHAPTER V 
I WANT TO BE A CUB-PILOT 

Months afterward the hope within me struggled to a 
reluctant death, and I found myself without an ambition. 
But I was ashamed to go home. I was in Cincinnati, and 
I set to work to map out a new career. I had been read- 
ing about the recent exploration of the river Amazon 
by an expedition sent out by our government. It was 
said that the expedition, owing to difficulties, had not 
thoroughly explored a part of the country lying about 
the head-waters, some four thousand miles from the 
mouth of the river. It was only about fifteen hundred 
miles from Cincinnati to New Orleans, where I could 
doubtless get a ship. I had thirty dollars left; I would 
go and complete the exploration of the Amazon. This 
was all the thought I gave to the subject. I never was 
great in matters of detail. I packed my valise, and took 
passage on an ancient tub called the Paul Jones, for 
New Orleans. For the sum of sixteen dollars I had the 
scarred and tarnished splendors of " her " main saloon 
principally to myself, for she was not a creature to attract 
the eye of wiser travellers. 

When we presently got under way and went poking 
down the broad Ohio, I became a new being, and the sub- 
ject of my own admiration. I was a traveller ! A word 
never had tasted so good in my mouth before. I had an 
exultant sense of being bound for mysterious lands and 
distant climes which I never have felt in so uplifting a 
degree since. I was in such a glorified condition that all 
ignoble feelings departed out of me, and I was able to 



36 



.ook down and pity the untravelled with a compassion 
that had hardly a trace of contempt in it. Still, when we 
stopped at villages and wood-yards, I could not help 
lolling carelessly upon the railings of the boiler-deck to 
enjoy the envy of the country boys on the bank. If they 
did not seem to discover me, I presently sneezed to 
attract their attention, or moved to a position where they 
could not help seeing me. And as soon as I knew they 
saw me I gaped and stretched, and gave other signs of 
being mightily bored with travelling. 

I kept my hat off all the time, and stayed where the 
wind and the sun could strike me, because I wanted 
to get the bronzed and weather-beaten look of an old 
traveller. Before the second day was half gone I experi- 
enced a joy which filled me with the purest gratitude; for 
I saw that the skin had begun to blister and peel off my 
face and neck. I wished that the boys and girls at home 
could see me now. 

We reached Louisville in time — at least the neighbor- 
hood of it. We stuck hard and fast on the rocks in the 
middle of the river, and lay there four days. I was now 
beginning to feel a strong sense of being a part of the 
boat's family, a sort of infant son to the captain and 
yaunger brother to the officers. There is no estimating 
the pride I took in this grandeur, or the affection that 
began to swell and grow in me for those people. I could 
not know how the lordly steamboatman scorns that sort 
of presumption in a mere landsman. I particularly 
longed to acquire the least trifle of notice from the big 
stormy mate, and I was on the alert for an opportunity 
to do him a service to that end. It came at last. The 
riotous powwow of setting a spar was going on down on 
the forecastle, and I went down there and stood around 
in the way — or mostly skipping out of it — till the mate 
suddenly roared a general order for somebody to bring 



37 



him a capstan bar. I sprang to his side and said : " Tell 
me where it is — I'll fetch it ! " 

If a rag-picker had offered to do a diplomatic service 
for the Emperor of Russia, the monarch could not have 
been more astounded than the mate was. He even 
stopped swearing. He stood and stared down at me. It 
took him ten seconds to scrape his disjointed remains 
together again. Then he said impressively: "Well, if 

this don't beat h 11 ! " and turned to his work with the 

air of a man who had been confronted with a problem 
too abstruse for solution. 

I crept away, and courted solitude for the rest of the 
day. I did not go to dinner; I stayed away from supper 
until every-body else had finished. I did not feel so much 
like a member of the boat's family now as before. How- 
ever, my spirits returned, in instalments, as we pursued 
our way down the river. I was sorry I hated the mate so, 
because it was not in (young) human nature not to admire 
him. He was huge and muscular, his face was bearded 
and whiskered all over; he had a red woman and a blue 
woman tattooed on his right arm — one on each side of a 
blue anchor with a red rope to it; and in the matter of 
profanity he was sublime. When he was getting out 
cargo at a landing, I was always where I could see and 
hear. He felt all the majesty of his great position, and 
made the world feel it, too. When he gave even the 
simplest order, he discharged it like a blast of lightning, 
and sent a long, reverberating peal of profanity thunder- 
ing after it. I could not help contrasting the way in 
which the average landsman would give an order with 
the mate's way of doing it. If the landsman should wish 
the gang-plank moved a foot farther forward, he would 
probably say : " James, or William, one of you push that 
plank forward, please ; " but put the mate in his place, 
and he would roar out: "Here, now, start that gang- 



38 



plank for'ard ! Lively, now! Whafrt you about! 
Snatch it! snatch it! There! there! Aft again! aft 
again ! Don't you hear me ? Dash it to dash ! are you 
going to sleep over it! 'Vast heaving. 'Vast heaving, I 
tell you'. Going to heave it clear astern ? WHERE're 
you going with that barrel! forard with it 'fore I make 
you swallow it, you dash-dash-dash-^(3;j-/z^^/ split between a 
tired mud-turtle and a crippled hearse-horse ! " 

I wished I could talk like that. 

When the soreness of my adventure with the mate had 
somewhat worn off, I began timidly to make up to the 
humblest official connected with the boat — the night 
watchman. He snubbed my advances at first, but I 
presently ventured to offer him a new chalk pipe, and 
that softened him. So he allowed me to sit with him by 
the big bell on the hurricane deck, and in time he melted 
into conversation. He could not well have helped it, I 
hung with such homage on his words and so plainly 
showed that I felt honored by his notice. He told me 
the names of dim capes and shadowy islands as we glided 
by them in the solemnity of the night, under the winking 
stars, and by and by got to talking about himself. He 
seemed over-sentimental for a man whose salary was six 
dollars a week — or rather he might have seemed so to an 
older person than I. But I drank in his words hungrily, 
and with a faith that might have moved mountains if it 
had been applied judiciously. What was it to me that he 
was soiled and seedy and fragrant with gin ? What was 
it to me that his grammar was bad, his construction 
worse, and his profanity so void of art that it was an 
element of weakness rather than strength in his conver- 
sation ? He was a wronged man, a man who had seen 
trouble, and that w^as enough for me. As he mellowed 
into his plaintive history his tears dripped upon the 
lantern in his lap, and I cried, too, from sympathy. He 



39 



said he was the son of an English nobleman — either an 
earl or an alderman, he could not remember which, but 
believed was both; his father, the nobleman, loved him, 
but his mother hated him from the cradle; and so while 
he was still a little boy he was sent to " one of them old, 
ancient colleges " — he couldn't remember which; and by 
and by his father died and his mother seized the property 
and ^' shook" him, as he phrased it. After his mother 
shook him, members of the nobility with whom he was 
acquainted used their influence to get him the position 
of ''loblolly-boy in a ship"; and from that point my 
watchman threw off all trammels of date and locality and 
branched out into a narrative that bristled all along with 
incredible adventures; a narrative that was so reeking 
with bloodshed, and so crammed with hair-breadth es- 
capes and the most engaging and unconscious personal 
villanies, that I sat speechless, enjoying, shuddering, 
wondering, worshipping. 

It was a sore blight to find out afterward that he was 
a low, vulgar, ignorant, sentimental, half-witted humbug, 
an untravelled native of the wilds of Illinois, who had 
absorbed wildcat literature and appropriated its marvels, 
until in time he had woven odds and ends of the mess into 
this yarn, and then gone on telling it to fledglings like 
me, until he had come to believe it himself. 



CHAPTER VI 

A cub-pilot's experience 

What with lying on the rocks four days at Louis- 
ville, and some other delays, the poor old Paid Jones 
fooled away about two weeks in making the voyage from 
Cincinnati to New Orleans. This gave me a chance to 
get acquainted with one of the pilots, and he taught me 
how to steer the boat, and thus made the fascination of 
river life more potent than ever for me. 

It also gave me a chance to get acquainted with a 
youth who had taken deck passage — more's the pity; for 
he easily borrowed six dollars of me on a promise to 
return to the boat and pay it back to me the day after we 
should arrive. But he probably died or forgot, for he 
never came. It was doubtless the former, since he had 
said his parents were wealthy, and he only travelled deck 
passage because it was cooler.* 

I soon discovered two things. One was that a vessel 
would not be likely to sail for the mouth of the Amazon 
under ten or twelve yearsf and the other was that the 
nine or ten dollars still left in my pocket would not suffice 
for so impossible an exploration as I had planned, even if 
I could afford to wait for a ship. Therefore it followed 
that I must contrive a new career. The Paul Jones 
was now bound for St. Louis. I planned a siege 
against my pilot, and at the end of three hard days he 
surrendered. He agreed to teach me the Mississippi 
River from New Orleans to St. Louis for five hundred 
dollars, payable out of the first wages I should receive 

^ " Deck " passage — i. e., steerage passage. 



41 



after graduating. I entered upon the small enter- 
prise of "learning" twelve or thirteen hundred miles of 
the great Mississippi River with the easy confidence of 
my time of life. If I had really known what I was about 
to require of my faculties, I should not have had the 
courage to begin. I supposed that all a pilot had to do 
was to keep his boat in the river, and I did not consider 
that that could be much of a trick, since it was so wide. 

The boat backed out from New Orleans at four in the 
afternoon, and it was ''our watch" until eight. Mr. 
Bixby, my chief, ''straightened her up," ploughed her 
along past the sterns of the other boats that lay at the 
Levee, and then said, "Here, take her; shave those 
steamships as close as you'd peel an apple." I took the 
wheel, and my heart-beat fluttered up into the hundreds; 
for it seemed to me that we were about to scrape the side 
off every ship in the line, we were so close. I held my 
breath and began to claw the boat away from the danger; 
and I had my own opinion of the pilot who had known no 
better than to get us into such peril, but I was too wise 
to express it. In half a minute I had a wide margin of 
safety intervening between the Paul Jones and the ships; 
and within ten seconds more I was set aside in disgrace, 
and Mr. Bixby was going into danger again and flaying 
me alive with abuse of my cowardice. I was stung, but I 
was obliged to admire the easy confidence with which my 
chief loafed from side to side of his wheel, and trimmed 
the ships so closely that disaster seemed ceaselessly 
imminent. When he had cooled a little he told me that 
the easy water was close ashore and the current outside, 
and therefore we must hug the bank, up-stream, to get 
the benefit of the former, and stay well out, down-stream, 
to take advantage of the latter. In my own mind I 
resolved to be a down-stream pilot and leave the up- 
streaming to people dead to prudence. 



42 



Now and then Mr. Bixby called my attention to certain 
things. Said he, '' This is Six-Mile Point." I assented. 
It was pleasant enough information, but I could not see 
the bearing of it. I was not conscious that it was a mat- 
ter of any interest to me. Another time he said, ''This 
is Nine-Mile Point." Later he said, "This is Twelve- 
Mile Point." They were all about level with the water's 
edge; they all looked about alike to me; they were monot- 
onously unpicturesque. I hoped Mr. Bixby would change 
the subject. But no; he would crowd up around a point, 
hugging the shore with affection, and then say : "The 
slack water ends here, abreast this bunch of China-trees; 
now we cross over." So he crossed over. He gave me 
the wheel once or twice, but I had no luck. I either 
came near chipping off the edge of a sugar plantation, or 
I yawed too far from shore, and so dropped back into 
disgrace again and got abused. 

The watch was ended at last, and we took supper and 
went to bed. At midnight the glare of a lantern shone in 
my eyes, and the night watchman said: 

" Come, turn out ! " 

And then he left. I could not understand this extra- 
ordinary procedure; so I presently gave up trying to, and 
dozed off to sleep. Pretty soon the watchman was back 
again, and this time he was gruff. I was annoyed. I said : 

" What do you want to come bothering around here in 
the middle of the night for ? Now, as like as not, I'll not 
get to sleep again to-night." 

The watchman said : 

"Well, if this an't good, I'm blessed." 

The " off-watch " was just turning in, and I heard some 
brutal laughter from them, and such remarks as " Hello, 
watchman ! an't the new cub turned out yet ? He's deli- 
cate, likely. Give him some sugar in a rag, and send for 
the chambermaid to sing ' Rock-a-by, Baby,' to him." 



43 



About this time Mr. Bixby appeared on the scene. 
Something like a minute later I was climbing the pilot- 
house steps with some of my clothes on and the rest in my 
arms. Mr. Bixby was close behind, commenting. Here 
was something fresh — this thing of getting up in the middle 
of the night to go to work. It was a detail in piloting 
that had never occurred to me at all. I knew that boats 
ran all night, but somehow I had never happened to reflect 
that somebody had to get up out of a warm bed to run 
them. I began to fear that piloting was not quite so 
romantic as I had imagined it was; there was something 
very real and worklike about this new phase of it. 

It was a rather dingy night, although a fair number of 
stars were out. The big mate was at the wheel, and he 
had the old tub pointed at a star and was holding her 
straight up the middle of the river. The shores on either 
hand were not much more than half a mile apart, but 
they seemed wonderfully far away and ever so vague and 
indistinct. The mate said : 

** We've got to land at Jones's plantation, sir." 

The vengeful spirit in me exulted. I said to myself, ''I 
wish you joy of your job, Mr. Bixby; you'll have a good 
time finding Mr. Jones's plantation such a night as this; 
and I hope you never -ivill find it as long as you live." 

Mr. Bixby said to the mate : 

'* Upper end of the plantation, or the lower? " 

** Upper." 

" I can't do it. The stumps there are out of water at 
this stage. It's no great distance to the lower, and you'll 
have to get along with that." 

*'A11 right, sir. If Jones don't like it, he'll have to 
lump it, I reckon." 

And then the mate left. My exultation began to cool 
and my wonder to come up. Here was a man who not 
only proposed to find this plantation on such a night, but 



44 



to find either end of it you preferred. I dreadfully 
wanted to ask a question, but I was carrying about as 
many short answers as my cargo-room would admit of, so 
I held my peace. All I desired to ask Mr. Bixby was the 
simple question w^hether he was ass enough to really 
imagine he was going to find that plantation on a night 
when all plantations were exactly alike and all of the same 
color. But I held in. I used to have fine inspirations of 
prudence in those days. 

Mr. Bixby made for the shore and soon was scraping it, 
just the same as if it had been daylight. And not only 
that, but singing : 

" Father in heaven, the day is declining," etc. 

It seemed to me that I had put my life in the keeping of 
a peculiarly reckless outcast. Presently he turned on me 
and said : 

'' What's the name of the first point above New 
Orleans ?" 

I was gratified to be able to answer promptly, and I did. 
I said I didn't know. 

''Don't know?'' 

This manner jolted me. I was down at the foot again, 
in a moment. But I had to say just what I had said 
' before. 

''Well, you're a smart one ! " said Mr. Bixby. "What's 
the name of the Jtext point ? " 

Once more I didn't knov/. 

"Well, this beats any thing. Tell me the name of any 
point or place I told you." 

I studied a while and decided that I couldn't. 

"Look here ! What do you start out from^ above 
Twelve-Mile Point, to cross over ?" 

"I— I— don't know." 



45 



"You — you — don't know?" mimicking my drawling 
manner of speecli. " What do you know ? " 

"I — I — nothing, for certain. " 

''By the great Caesar's ghost, I believe you ! You're 
the stupidest dunderhead I ever saw or ever heard of, 
so help me Moses ! The idea oi you being a pilot— you / 
Why, you don't know enough to pilot a cow down a 
lane." 

Oh, but his wrath was up ! He was a nervous man, and 
he shuffled from one side of his wheel to the other as if the 
floor was hot. He would boil a while to himself, and then 
overflow and scald me again. 

''Look here ! What do you suppose I told you the 
names of those points for ? " 

I tremblingly considered a moment, and then the devil 
of temptation provoked me to say : 

"Well — to — to — be entertaining, I thought." 

This was a red rag to the bull. He raged and stormed 
so (he was crossing the river at the time) that I judge it 
made him blind, because he ran over the steering-oar of a 
trading-scow. Of course the traders sent up a volley of 
red-hot profanity. Never was a man so grateful as Mr. 
Bixby was; because he was brimful, and here were sub- 
jects who could fa/k back. He threw open a window, 
thrust his head out, and such an irruption followed as I 
never had heard before. The fainter and farther away the 
scowmen's curses drifted, the higher Mr. Bixby hfted his 
voice and the weightier his adjectives grew. When he 
closed the window he was empty. You could have drawn 
a seine through his system and not caught curses enough 
to disturb your mother with. Presently he said to me in 
the gentlest way : 

" My boy, you must get a little memorandum-book; an^ 
every time I tell you a thing, put it down right away. 
There's only one way to be a pilot, and that is to get this 



46 



entire river by lieart. You have to know it just like 
ABC' 

That was a dismal revelation to me; for my memory 
was never loaded with any thing but blank cartridges. 
However, I did not feel discouraged long. I judged that 
it was best to make some allowances, for doubtless Mr. 
Bixby was " stretching." Presently he pulled a rope and 
struck a few strokes on the big bell. The stars were all 
gone now, and the night was as black as ink. I could 
hear the wheels churn along the bank, but I was not 
entirely certain that I could see the shore. The voice 
of the invisible watchman called up from the hurricane 
deck : 

''What's this, sir?" 

'' Jones's plantation." 

I said to myself, "I wish I might venture to offer a 
small bet that it isn't." But I did not chirp. I only 
waited to see. Mr. Bixby handled the engine-bells, and 
in due time the boat's nose came to the land, a torch 
glowed from the forecastle, a man skipped ashore, a 
darky's voice on the bank said, '' Gimme de k'yarpet- 
bag, Mass' Jones," and the next moment we were stand- 
ing up the river again, all serene. I reflected deeply a 
while, and then said — but not aloud — '' Well, the finding 
of that plantation was the luckiest accident that ever 
happened; but it couldn't happen again in a hundred 
years." And I fully believed it ^aas an accident, too. 

By the time we had gone seven or eight hundred miles 
up 'the river, I had learned to be a tolerably plucky 
upstream steersman, in daylight, and before we reached 
St. Louis I had made a trifle of progress in night-work, 
but only a trifle. I had a note-book that fairly bristled 
with the names of towns, '' points," bars, islands, bends, 
reaches, etc. ; but the information was to be found only 
in the note-book — none of it was in my head. It made 



47 



my heart ache to think I had only got half of the river 
set down; for as our watch was four hours off and four 
hours on, day and night, there was a long four-hour gap 
in my book for every time I had slept since the voyage 
began. 

My chief was presently hired to go on a big New Orleans 
boat, and I packed my satchel and went with him. She 
was a grand affair. When I stood in her pilot-house 
I was so far above the water that I seemed perched on 
a mountain; and her decks stretched so far away, fore 
and aft, below me, that I wondered how I could ever 
have considered the little Paul Jones a large craft. 
There were other differences, too. The Paul Jones's 
pilot-house was a cheap, dingy, battered rattle-trap, 
cramped for room; but here was a sumptuous glass 
temple; room enough to have a dance in; showy red and 
gold window curtains; an imposing sofa; leather cushions 
and a back to the high bench where visiting pilots sit, to 
spin yarns and 'Mook at the river"; bright, fanciful 
''cuspadores," instead of a broad wooden box filled with 
sawdust; nice new oilcloth on the floor; a hospitable big 
stove for winter; a wheel as high as my head, costly with 
inlaid work; a wire tiller-rope; bright brass knobs for 
the bells; and a tidy, white-aproned, black " texas-ten- 
der," to bring up tarts and ices and coffee during mid- 
watch, day and night. Now this was "something like"; 
and so I began to take heart once more to believe that 
piloting was a romantic sort of occupation after all. The 
moment we were under way I began to prowl about the 
great steamer and fill myself with joy. She was as clean 
and as dainty as a drawing-room; when I looked down her 
long, gilded saloon, it was like gazing through a splen- 
did tunnel; she had an oil-picture, by some gifted sign- 
painter, on every state-room door; she glittered with no 
end of prism-fringed chandeliers; the clerk's oflfice was 



48 



elegant, the bar was marvellous, and the barkeeper had 
been barbered and upholstered at incredible cost. The 
boiler-deck (/. e., the second story of the boat, so to 
speak), was as spacious as a church, it seemed to me; so 
with the forecastle; and there was no pitiful handful of 
deck-hands, firemen, and roust-abouts down there, but 
a whole battalion of men. The fires were fiercely glar- 
ing from a long row of furnaces, and over them were 
eight huge boilers! This was unutterable pomp. The 
mighty engines — but enough of this. I had never felt 
so fine before. And when I found that the regiment of 
natty servants respectfully ''sir'd" me, my satisfaction 
was complete. 



CHAPTER VII 
A DARING DEED 

When I returned to the pilot-house St. Louis was gone, 
and I was 'lost. Here was a piece of river which was all 
down in my book, but I could make neither head nor tail 
of it: you understand, it was turned around. I had seen 
it when coming up-stream, but I had never faced about 
to see how it looked when it was behind me. My heart 
broke again, for it was plain that I had got to learn this 
troublesome river both ways. 

The pilot-house was full of pilots, going down to "look 
at the river." What is called the '■'■ upper river " (the two 
hundred miles between St. Louis and Cairo, where the 
Ohio comes in) was low; and the Mississippi changes its 
channel so constantly that the pilots used to always find it 
necessary to run down to Cairo to take a fresh look, when 
their boats were to lie in port a week; that is, when the 
water was at a low stage. A deal of this "looking at 
the river," was done by poor fellows who seldom had 
a berth, and Vv^hose only hope of getting one lay in 
their being always freshly posted and therefore ready to 
drop into the shoes of some reputable pilot, for a single 
trip, on account of such pilot's sudden illness, or some 
other necessity. And a good many of them constantly 
ran up and down inspecting the river, not because they 
ever really hoped to get a berth, but because (they being 
guests of the boat) it was cheaper to "look at the 
river" than stay ashore and pay board. In time these 
fellows grew dainty in their tastes, and only infested 
boats that had an established reputation for setting good 



50 



tables. All visiting pilots were useful, for they were 
always ready and willing, winter or summer, night or 
day, to go out in the yawl and help buoy the channel or 
assist the boat's pilots in any way they could. They 
were likewise welcome because all pilots are tireless 
talkers, when gathered together, and as they talk only 
about the river they are always understood and are 
always interesting. Your true pilot cares nothing about 
any thing on earth but the river, and his pride in his 
occupation surpasses the pride of kings. 

We had a fine company of these river inspectors along 
this trip. There were eight or ten, and there was abun- 
dance of room for them in our great pilot-house. Two 
or three of them wore polished silk hats, elaborate shirt- 
fronts, diamond breastpins, kid gloves, and patent-leather 
boots. They were choice in their English, and bore 
themselves with a dignity proper to men of solid means 
and prodigious reputation as pilots. The others were 
more or less loosely clad, and wore upon their heads tall 
felt cones that were suggestive of the days of the Com- 
monwealth. 

I was a cipher in this august company, and felt sub- 
dued, not to say torpid. I was not even of sufficient 
consequence to assist at the wheel when it was necessary 
to put the tiller hard down in a hurry; the guest that 
stood nearest did that when occasion required — and this 
was pretty much all the time, because of the crookedness 
of the channel and the scant water. I stood in a corner; 
and the talk I listened to took the hope all out of me. 
One visitor said to another: 

" Jim, how did you run Plum Point, coming up?" 

'' It was in the night, there, and I ran it the way one 
of the boys on the Diana told me; started out about 
fifty yards above the wood-pile on the false point, and 
held on the cabin under Plum Point till I raised the 



51 



reef — quarter less twain — then straightened up for the 
middle bar till I got well abreast the old one-limbed 
cotton-wood in the bend, then got my stern on the cctton- 
wood, and head on the low place above the point, and 
came through a-booming — nine and a half." 

*' Pretty square crossing, an't it?" 

"Yes, but the upper bar's working down fast." 

Another pilot spoke up and said: 

" I had better water than that, and ran it lower down; 
started out from the false point — mark twain — raised the 
second reef abreast the big snag in the bend, and had 
quarter less twain." 

One of the gorgeous ones remarked: 

*' I don't want to find fault with your leadsmen, but 
that's a good deal of water for Plum Point, it seems to 
me." 

There was an approving nod all around as this quiet 
snub dropped on the boaster and "settled" him. And 
so they went on talk-talk-talking. Meantime, the thing 
that was running in my mind was, " Now, if my ears hear 
aright, I have not only to get the names of all the towns 
and islands and bends, and so on, by heart, but I must 
even get up a warm personal acquaintanceship with every 
old snag and one-limbed cotton-wood and obscure wood- 
pile that ornaments the banks of this river for twelve 
hundred miles; and more than that, I must actually know 
where these things are in the dark, unless these guests 
are gifted with eyes that can pierce through two miles 
of solid blackness. I wish the piloting business was in 
Jericho and I had never thought of it." 

At dusk Mr. Bixby tapped the big bell three times (the 
signal to land), and the captain emerged from his drawing- 
room in the forward end of the "texas," and looked up 
enquiringly. Mr. Bixby said: 

"We will lay up here all night, captain." 



52 



''Very well, sir." 

That was all. The boat came to shore and was tied 
up for the night. It seemed to me a fine thing that the 
pilot could do as he pleased, without asking so grand 
a captain's permission. I took my supper and went 
immediately to bed, discouraged by my day's observa- 
tions and experiences. My late voyage's note-booking 
was but a confusion of meaningless names. It had tan- 
gled me all up in a knot every time I had looked at it 
in the daytime. I now hoped for respite in sleep; but 
no, it revelled all through my head till sunrise again, a 
frantic and tireless nightmare. 

Next morning I felt pretty rusty and low-spirited. 
AVe went booming along, taking a good many chances, 
for we were anxious to *' get out of the river " (as getting 
out to Cairo was called) .before night should overtake 
us. But Mr. Bixby's partner, the other pilot, presently 
grounded the boat, and we lost so much time getting her 
off that it was plain the darkness would overtake us a 
good long way above the mouth. This was a great mis- 
fortune, especially to certain of our visiting pilots, whose 
boats would have to wait for their return, no matter how 
long that might be. It sobered the pilot-house talk a 
good deal. Coming up-stream, pilots did not mind low 
water or any kind of darkness; nothing stopped them 
but fog. But down-stream work was different; a boat 
was too nearly helpless, with a stiff current pushing 
behind her; so it was not customary to run down-stream 
at night in low water. 

There seemed to be one small hope, however: if we 
could get through the intricate and dangerous Hat Island 
crossing before night, we could venture the rest, for w^e 
would have plainer sailing and better water. But it 
would be insanity to attempt Hat Island at night. So 
there was a deal of looking at watches all the rest of the 



53 



day, and a constant ciphering upon the speed we were 
making ; Hat Island was the eternal subject ; sometimes 
hope was high and sometimes we were delayed in a bad 
crossing, and down it went again. For hours all hands 
lay under the burden of this suppressed excitement; it 
was even communicated to me, and I got to feeling so 
solicitous about Hat Island, and under such an awful 
pressure of responsibility, that I wished I might have five 
minutes on shore to draw a good, full, relieving breath, 
and start over again. We were standing no regular 
watches. Each of our pilots ran such portions of the 
river as he had run when coming up-stream, because of 
his greater familiarity with it; but both remained in the 
pilot-house constantly. 

An hour before sunset Mr. Bixby took the wheel, and 
Mr. W. stepped aside. For the next thirty minutes 
every man held his watch in his hand and was restless, 
silent, and uneasy. At last somebody said, with a doom- 
ful sigh: 

'*Well, yonder's Hat Island — and we can't make it." 
All the watches closed with a snap, everybody sighed 
and muttered something about it's being '' too bad, too 
bad — ah, if we could only have got here half an hour 
sooner ! " and the place was thick with the atmosphere 
of disappointment. Some started to go out, but loitered, 
hearing no bell-tap to land. The sun dipped behind the 
horizon, the boat went on. Enquiring looks passed from 
one guest to another ; and one who had his hand on the 
door-knob and had turned it, waited, then presently took 
away his hand and let the knob turn back again. We 
bore steadily down the bend. More looks were exchanged, 
and nods of surprised admiration — but no words. Insen- 
sibly the men drew together behind Mr. Bixby, as the 
sky darkened and one or two dim stars came out. The 
dead silence and sense of waiting became oppressive. 



54 



Mr. Bixby pulled the cord, and two deep, mellow notes 
from the big bell floated off on the night. Then a pause, 
and one more note was struck. The watchman's voice 
followed, from the hurricane deck: 

" Labboard lead, there ! Stabboard lead!" 

The cries of the leadsmen began to rise out of the dis- 
tance, and were gruffly repeated by the word-passers on 
the hurricane deck, 

''M-a-r-k three ! M-a-r-k three ! Quarter-less-three ! 
Half twain ! Quarter twain ! M-a-r-k twain ! Quarter- 
less " 

Mr. Bixby pulled two bell-ropes, and was answered by 
faint jinglings far below in the engine-room, and our 
speed slackened. The steam began to w^histle through 
the gauge-cocks. The cries of the leadsmen went on — 
and it is a weird sound, always, in the night. Every 
pilot in the lot was watching now, with fixed eyes, and 
talking under his breath. Nobody was calm and easy 
but Mr. Bixby. He would put his wheel down and stand 
on a spoke, and as the steamer swung into her (to me) 
utterly invisible marks — for we seemed to be in the midst 
of a wide and gloomy sea — he would meet and fasten her 
there. Out of the murmur of half-audible talk, one 
caught a coherent sentence now and then — such as: 

"There; she's over the first reef all right! " 

After a pause, another subdued voice : 

" Her stern's coming down just exactly right, by 
George!'' 

" Now she's in the marks; over she goes ! " 

Somebody else muttered : 

" Oh, it was done beautiful — beautiful!'' 

Now the engines were stopped altogether, and we 
drifted with the current. Not that I could see the boat 
drift, for I could not, the stars being all gone by this 
time. This drifting was the dismalest work ; it held 



55 



one's heart still. Presently I discovered a blacker gloom 
than that which surrounded us. It was the head of the 
island. We were closing right down upon it. We 
entered its deeper shadow, and so imminent seemed the 
peril that I was likely to suffocate ; and I had the 
strongest impulse to do so7Jiething^ any thing, to save the 
vessel. But still Mr. Bixby stood by his wheel, silent, 
intent as a cat, and all the pilots stood shoulder to 
shoulder at his back. 

*' She'll not make it ! " somebody whispered. 

The water grew shoaler and shoaler, by the leadsman's 
cries, till it was down to : 

'' Eight-and-a-half ! E-i-g-h-t feet ! E-i-g-h t feet ! 
Seven-and " 

Mr. Bixby said warningly through his speaking tube to 
the engineer : 

''Stand by, now !" 

*' Ay, ay, sir ! " 

'^ Seven-and-a-half ! Seven feet! Six-^x\di " 

We touched bottom ! Instantly Mr. Bixby set a lot of 
bells ringing, shouted through the tube, '''' Noiu, let her 
have it — every ounce you've got ! " then to his partner, 
'' Put her hard down ! snatch her ! snatch her ! " The 
boat rasped and ground her way through the sand, hung 
upon the apex of disaster a single tremendous instant, 
and then over she went ! And such a shout as went up 
at Mr. Bixby's back never loosened the roof of a pilot- 
house before ! 

There was no more trouble after that. Mr. Bixby was 
a hero that night ; and it was some little time, too, before 
his exploit ceased to be talked about by river men. 

Fully to realize the marvellous precision required in 
laying the great steamer in her marks in that murky 
waste of water, one should know that not only must she 
pick her intricate way through snags and blind reefs, and 



56 



then shave the head of the island so closely as to brush 
the overhanging foliage with her stern, but at one place 
she must pass almost within arm's reach of a sunken 
and invisible wreck that would snatch the hull timbers 
from under her if she should strike it, and destroy a 
quarter of a million dollars' worth of steamboat and cargo 
in five minutes, and maybe a hundred and fifty human 
lives into the bargain. 

The last remark I heard that night was a compliment 
to Mr. Bixby, uttered in soliloquy and with unction by 
one of our guests. He said: 

** By the Shadow of Death, but he's a lightning pilot ! '" 



CHAPTER VIII 
PERPLEXING LESSONS 

At the end of what seemed a tedious while, I had 
managed to pack my head full of islands, towns, bars, 
"poinjts," and bends; and a curiously inanimate mass of 
lumber it was, too. However, inasmuch as I could shut 
my eyes and reel off a good long string of these names 
without leaving out more than ten miles of river in every 
fifty, I began to feel that I could take a boat down to 
New Orleans if I could make her skip those little gaps. 
But of course my complacency could hardly get start 
enough to lift my nose a trifle into the air, before Mr. 
Bixby would think of something to fetch it down agaiiL 
One day he turned on me suddenly with this settler : 

^' What is the shape of Walnut Bend ?" 

He might as well have asked me my grandmother's 
opinion of protoplasm. I reflected respectfully, and then 
said I didn't know it had any particular shape. My gun- 
powdery chief went off with a bang, of course, and then 
went on loading and firing until he was out of adjectives. 

I had learned long ago that he only carried just so 
many rounds of ammunition, and was sure to subside into 
a very placable and even remorseful old smooth-bore as 
soon as they were all gone. That word '^ old " is merely 
affectionate; he was not more than thirty-four. I waitei 
By and by he said : 

'' My boy, you've got to know the s/iaj>e of the river 
perfectly. It is all there is left to steer by on a very dark 
night. Every thing else is blotted out and gone. But 



58 



mind you, it hasn't the same shape in the night that it has 
in the daytime." 

" How on earth am I ever going to learn it, then ? " 

'' How do you follow a hall at home in the dark ? Be- 
cause you know the shape of it. You can't see it." 

"Do you mean to say that I've got to know all the 
million trifling variations of shape in the banks of this 
interminable river as well as I know the shape of the 
front hall at home ? " 

*'0n my honor, you've got to know them better than 
any man ever did know the shapes of the halls in his own 
house." 

'* I wish I was dead ! " 

** Now I don't want to discourage you, but " 

''Well, pile it on me; I might as well have it now as 
another time." 

"You see, this has got to be learned; there isn't any 
getting around it. A clear starlight night throws such 
heavy shadows that, if you didn't know the shape of a 
shore perfectly, you would claw away from every bunch of 
timber, because you would take the black shadow of it for 
a solid cape; and you see you would be getting scared to 
death every fifteen minutes by the watch. You would be 
fifty yards from shore all the time when you ought to be 
within fifty feet of it. You can't see a snag in one of 
those shadows, but you know exactly where it is, and the 
shape of the river tells you when you are coming to it. 
Then there's your pitch-dark night; the river is a very 
different shape on a pitch-dark night from what it is on a 
starlight night. All shores seem to be straight lines, 
then, and mighty dim ones, too; and you'd r//// them for 
straight lines, only you know better. You boldly drive 
your boat right into what seems to be a solid, straight 
wall (you knowing very well that in reality there is a curve 
there), and that wall falls back and makes way for you. 



59 



Then there's your gray mist. You take a night when 
there's one of these grisly, drizzly, gray mists, and then 
there isn't ajiy particular shape to a shore. A gray mist 
would tangle the head of the oldest man that ever lived. 
Well, then, different kinds of moonlight change the shape 
of the river in different ways. You see " 

''Oh, don't say any more, please! Have I got to learn 
the shape of the river according to all these five hundred 
thousand different ways? If I tried to carry all that cargo 
in my head it would make me stoop-shouldered." 

'''' No ! you only learn the shape of the river; and you 
learn it with such absolute certainty that you can always 
steer by the shape that's in your head, and never mind the 
one that's before your eyes." 

*' Very well, I'll try it; but, after I have learned it, can 
I depend on it ? Will it keep the same form and not go 
fooling around ? " 

Before Mr. Bixby could answer, Mr. W. came in to 
take the watch, and he said: 

''Bixby, you'll have to look out for President's Island, 
and all that country clear away up above the Old Hen and 
Chickens. The banks are caving and the shape of the 
shores changing like every thing. Why, you wouldn't 
know the point above 40. You can go up inside the old 
sycamore snag, now."* 

So that question was answered. Here were leagues of 
shore changing shape. My spirits were down in the mud 
again. Two things seemed pretty apparent to me. One 
was, that in order to be a pilot a man had got to learn 
more than any one man ought to be allowed to know; 
and the other was, that he must learn it all over again in 
a different way every twenty-four hours. 

That night we had the watch until twelve. Now it 

* It may not be necessary, but still it can do no harm to explain that 
"inside " means between the snag and the shore. — M. T. 



6o 



was an ancient river custom for the two pilots to chat a 
bit when the watch changed. While the relieving pilot 
put on his gloves and lit his cigar, his partner, the retir- 
ing pilot, would say something like this : 

** I judge the upper bar is making down a little at Hale's 
Point; had quarter twain with the lower lead and mark 
twain * with the other." 

" Yes, I thought it was making down a little, last trip. 
Meet any boats ? " 

*' Met one abreast the head of 21, but she was away 
over hugging the bar, and I couldn't make her out 
entirely. I took her for the Sunny South — hadn't any 
skylights forward of the chimneys." 

And so on. And as the relieving pilot took the wheel 
his partner f would mention that we were in such-and- 
such a bend, and say we were abreast of such-and-such a 
man's wood-yard or plantation. This was courtesy; I 
supposed it was necessity. But Mr. \V. came on watch 
full twelve minutes late on this particular night — a tre- 
mendous breach of etiquette; in fact, it is the unpardon- 
able sin among pilots. So Mr. Bixby gave him no greeting 
whatever, but simply surrendered the wheel and marched 
out of the pilot-house without a word. I was appalled; 
it was a villanous night for blackness, we were in a par- 
ticularly wide and blind part of the river, where there 
was no shape or substance to any thing, and it seemed 
incredible that Mr. Bixby should have left that poor 
fellow to kill the boat, trying to find out where he was. 
But I resolved that I would stand by him any way. He 
should find that he was not wholly friendless. So I stood 
around, and waited to be asked where we were. But 
Mr. W. plunged on serenely through the solid firmament 

* Two fathoms. Quarter twain is 2^4 fathoms, 13J2 feet. Mark 
three is three fathoms. 

f *' Partner" is technical for " the other pilot." 



6i 



of black cats that stood for an atmosphere, and never 
opened his mouth. " Here is a proud devil ! " thought I; 
" here is a limb of Satan that would rather send us all to 
destruction than put himself under obligations to me, 
because I am not yet one of the salt of the earth and 
privileged to snub captains and lord it over every thing 
dead and alive in a steamboat." I presently climbed up 
on the bench; I did not thinic it was safe to go to sleep 
while this lunatic was on watch. 

However, I must have gone to sleep in the course of 
time, because the next thing I was aware of was the fact 
that day was breaking, Mr. W. gone, and Mr. Bixby at 
the wheel again. So it was four o'clock and all well — 
but me; I felt like a skinful of dry bones, and all of them 
trying to ache at once. 

Mr. Bixby asked me what I had stayed up there for. 
I confessed that it was to do Mr. W. a benevolence — 
tell him where he was. It took five minutes for the 
entire preposterousness of the thing to filter into Mr. 
Bixby's system, and then I judge it filled him nearly up 
to the chin; because he paid me a compliment — and not 
much of a one either. He said: 

"Well, taking you by and large, you do seem to be 
more different kinds of an ass than any creature I ever 
saw before. What did you suppose he wanted to know 
for ? " 

I said I thought it might be a convenience to him. 

''Convenience! D nation! Didn't I tell you that 

a man's got to know the river in the night the same as 
he'd know his own front hall ? " 

"Well, I can follow the front hall in the dark if I know 
it IS the front hall; but suppose you set me down in the 
middle of it in the dark and not tell me which hall it is; 
how am / to know ? " 

" Well, you've got to, on the river ! " 



62 



*' All right. Then I'm glad I never said any thing to 
Mr. W." 

" I should say so ! Why, he'd have slammed you 
through the window and utterly ruined a hundred dollars' 
worth of window-sash and stuff." 

I was glad this damage had been saved, for it would 
have made me unpopular with the owners. They always 
hated any body who had the name of being careless and 
injuring things. 

I went to work now to learn the shape of the river; 
and of all the eluding and ungraspable objects that ever 
I tried to get mind or hands on, that was the chief. I 
would fasten my eyes upon a sharp, wooded point that 
projected far into the river some miles ahead of me, and 
go to laboriously photographing its shape upon my brain; 
and just as I was beginning to succeed to my satisfaction, 
we would draw up toward it and the exasperating thing 
would begin to melt away and fold back into the bank! 
If there had been a conspicuous dead tree standing upon 
the very point of the cape, I would find that tree incon- 
spicuously merged into the general forest, and occupying 
the middle of a straight shore, when I got abreast of it! 
No prominent hill would stick to its shape long enough 
for me to make up my mind what its form really was, but 
it was as dissolving and changeful as if it had been a 
mountain of butter in the hottest corner of the tropics. 
Nothing ever had the same shape when I was coming 
down-stream that it had borne when I went up. I 
mentioned these little difficulties to Mr. Bixby. He 
said: 

''That's the very main virtue of the thing. If the 
shapes didn't change every three seconds they wouldn't 
be of any use. Take this place where we are now, for 
instance. As long as that hill over yonder is only one 
hill, I can boom right along the way I'm going ; but the 



63 



moment it splits at the top and forms a V, I know I've 
got to scratch to starboard in a hurry, or I'll bang this 
boat's brains out against a rock; and then the moment 
one of the prongs of the V swings behind the other, I've 
got to waltz to larboard again, or I'll have a misunder- 
standing with a snag that would snatch the keelson out 
of this steamboat as neatly as if it were a sliver in your 
hand. If that hill didn't change its shape on bad nights 
there would be an awful steamboat grave-yard around 
here inside of a year," 

It v/as plain that I had got to learn the shape of the 
river in all the different ways that could be thought of, — 
upside down, wrong end first, inside out, fore-and-aft, 
and "thort-ships," — and then know what to do on gray 
nights when it hadn't any shape at all. So I set about it. 
In the course of time I began to get the best of this 
knotty lesson, and my self-complacency moved to the 
front once more. Mr. Bixby was all fixed, and ready to 
start it to the rear again. He opened on me after this 
fashion: 

'' How much water did we have in the middle crossing 
at Hole-in-the-Wall, trip before last ? " 

I considered this an outrage. I said: 

'* Every trip, down and up, the leadsmen are singing 
through that tangled place for three-quarters of an hour 
on a stretch. How do you reckon I can remember such 
a mess as that ? " 

*' My boy, you've got to remember it. You've got to 
remember the exact spot and the exact marks the boat 
lay in when we had the shoalest water, in every one of 
the five hundred shoal places between St. Louis and New 
Orleans ; and you mustn't get the shoal soundings and 
marks of one trip mixed up with the shoal soundings and 
marks of another, either, for they're not often twice alike. 
You must keep them separate." 



64 



When I came to myself again, I said : 

'* When I get so that I can do that, I'll be able to raise 
the dead, and then I won't have to pilot a steamboat to 
make a living. I want to retire from this business. I 
want a slush-bucket and a brush; I'm only fit for a roust- 
about. I haven't got brains enough to be a pilot; and if 
I had I wouldn't have strength enough to carry them 
around, unless I went on crutches." 

" Now drop that ! When I say I'll learn * a man the 
river, I mean it. And you can depend on it, I'll learr 
him or kill him." 

* " Teach " is not in the river vocabulary. 



CHAPTER IX 
CONTINUED PERPLEXITIES 

There was no use in arguing with a person like this. 
I promptly put such a strain on my memory that by and 
by even the shoal water and the countless crossing- 
marks began to stay with me. But the result was just 
the same. I never could more than get one knotty thing 
learned before another presented itself. Now I had 
often seen pilots gazing at the water and pretending to 
read it as if it were a book ; but it was a book that told 
me nothing. A time came at last, however, when Mr. 
Bixby seemed to think me far enough advanced to bear a 
lesson on water-reading. So he began : 

*' Do you see that long, slanting line on the face of the 
water ? Now, that's a reef. Moreover, it's a bluff reef. 
There is a solid sand-bar under it that is nearly as 
straight up and down as the side of a house. There is 
plenty of water close up to it, but mighty little on top 
of it. If you were to hit it, you would knock the boat's 
brains out. Do you see where the line fringes out at the 
upper end and begins to fade away ? " 

'' Yes, sir." 

'MVell, that is a low place; that is the head of the reef. 
You can climb over there, and not hurt any thing. Cross 
over, now, and follow along close under the reef — easy 
water there — not much current," 

I followed the reef along till I approached the fringed 
end. Then Mr. Bixby said : 

''Now get ready. Wait till I give the word. She 
won't want to mount the reef: a boat hates shoal water. 



66 



Stand by — wait — wait — keep her well in hand. Now 
cramp her down! Snatch her! snatch her ! " 

He seized the other side of the wheel and helped to 
spin it around until it was hard down, and then we held 
it so. The boat resisted, and refused to answer for a 
while, and next she came surging to starboard, mounted 
the reef, and sent a long, angry ridge of water foaming 
away from her bows, 

" Now watch her; watch her like a cat, or she'll get 
away from you. When she fights strong and the tiller 
slips a little, in a jerky, greasy sort of way, let up on her 
a trifle; it is the way she tells you at night that the water 
is too shoal; but keep edging her up, little by little, 
toward the point. You are well up on the bar now; there 
is a bar under every point, because the water that comes 
down around it forms an eddy and allows the sediment 
to sink. Do you see those fine lines on the face of the 
water that branch out like the ribs of a fan ? Well, those 
are little reefs; you want to just miss the ends of them, 
but run them pretty close. Now look out — look out! 
Don't you crowd that slick, greasy-looking place; there 
ain't nine feet there; she won't stand it. She begins to 
smell it; look sharp, I tell you ! Oh, blazes, there you 
go ! Stop the starboard wheel ! Quick ! Ship up to 
back ! Set her back ! " 

The engine bells jingled and the engines answered 
promptly, shooting white columns of steam far aloft out 
of the 'scape-pipes, but it was too late. The boat had 
"smelt" the bar in good earnest; the foamy ridges that 
radiated from her bows suddenly disappeared, a great 
dead swell came rolling forward, and swept ahead of her, 
she careened far over to larboard, and went tearing away 
toward the shore as if she were about scared to death. 
We were a good mile from where we ought to have been 
when we finally got the upper hand of her again. 



67 



During the afternoon watch the next day, Mr. Bixby 
asked me if I knew how to run the next few miles. I said: 

"Go inside the first snag above the point, outside the 
next one, start out from the lower end of Higgins's wood- 
yard, make a square crossing, and " 

'' That's all right. I'll be back before you close up on 
the next point." 

But he wasn't. He was still below when I rounded it 
and entered upon a piece of river which I had some mis- 
givings about. I did not know that he was hiding behind 
a chimney to see how I would perform. I went gayly 
along, getting prouder and prouder, for he had never left 
the boat in my sole charge such a length of time before. 
I even got to "setting" her and letting the wheel go 
entirely, while I vaingloriously turned my back and 
inspected the stern marks and hummed a tune, a sort of 
easy indifference which I had prodigiously admired in 
Bixby and other great pilots. Once I inspected rather 
long, and when I faced to the front again my heart flew 
into my mouth so suddenly that if I hadn't clapped my 
teeth together I should have lost it. One of those fright- 
ful bluff reefs was stretching its deadly length right 
across our bows ! My head was gone in a moment; I did 
not know which end I stood on; I gasped and could not 
get my breath; I spun the wheel down with such rapidity 
that it wove itself together like a spider's web; the boat 
answered and turned square away from the reef, but the 
reef followed her ! I fled, but still it followed, still it 
kept — right across my bows ! I never looked to see 
where I was going, I only fled. The awful crash was 
imminent. Why didn't that villain come ? If I com- 
m-itted the crime of ringing a bell I might get thrown 
overboard. But better that than kill the boat. So in 
blind desperation I started such a rattling " shivaree " 
down below as never had astounded an engineer in this 



68 



v/orld before, I fancy. Amidst the frenzy of the bells the 
engines began to back and fill in a furious way, and my 
reason forsook its throne — we were about to crash into 
the woods on the other side of the river. Just then Mr. 
Bixby stepped calmly into view on the hurricane deck. 
My soul went out to him in gratitude. My distress van- 
ished; I would have felt safe on the brink of Niagara 
with Mr. Bixby on the hurricane deck. He blandly and 
sweetly took his toothpick out of his mouth between his 
fingers, as if it were a cigar, — we were just in the act of 
climbing an overhanging big tree, and the passengers 
were scudding astern like rats, — and lifted up these com- 
mands to me ever so gently: 

" Stop the starboard ! Stop the larboard ! Set her 
back on both ! " 

The boat hesitated, halted, pressed her nose among 
the boughs a critical instant, then reluctantly began to 
back away. 

"■ Stop the larboard ! Come ahead on it ! Stop the 
starboard ! Come ahead on it ! Point her for the bar ! " 

I sailed away as serenely as a summer's morning. Mr. 
Bixby came in and said, with mock simplicity: 

"When you have a hail, my boy, you ought to tap the 
big bell three times before you land, so that the engineers 
can get ready." 

I blushed under the sarcasm, and said I hadn't had 
any hail. 

" Ah ! Then it was for wood, I suppose. The officer 
of the w^atch will tell you when he wants to wood up." 

I went on consuming, and said I wasn't after wood. 

" Indeed ? Why, what could you want over here in the 
bend, then ? Did you ever know of a boat following a 
bend up-stream at this stage of the river ? " 

" No, sir — and / wasn't trying to follow it. I was 
getting away from a bluff reef." 



I 



69 



*' No, it wasn't a bluff reef; there isn't one within three 
miles of where you were." 

" But I saw it. It was as bluff as that one yonder." 

''Just about. Run over it ! " 

" Do you give it as an order ? " 

"Yes. Run over it ! " 

" If I don't, I wish I may die." 

" All right; I am taking the responsibility." 

I was just as anxious to kill the boat, now, as I had 
been to save it before. I impressed my orders upon my 
memory, to be used at the inquest, and made a straight 
break for the reef. As it disappeared under our bows I 
held my breath; but we slid over it like oil. 

"Now, don't you see the difference? It wasn't any 
thing but a wind reef. The wind does that." 

"So I see. But it is exactly like a bluff reef. How 
am I ever going to tell them apart ? " 

"I can't tell you. It is an instinct. By and by 
you will just naturally k?iow one from the other, but 
you never will be able to explain why or how^ you know 
them apart." 

It turned out to be true. The face of the water, in 
time, became a wonderful book — a book that w^as a dead 
language to the uneducated passenger, but which told its 
mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished 
secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice. And 
it was not a book to be read once and thrown aside, for it 
had a new story to tell every day. Throughout the long 
twelve hundred miles there was never a page that was 
void of interest, never one that you could leave unread 
without loss, never one that you would w^ant to skip, 
thinking you could find higher enjoyment in some other 
thing. There never was so wonderful a book written 
by man; never one whose interest was so absorbing, so 
unflagging, so sparklingly renewed with every reperusal. 



70 



The passenger who could not read it was charmed with 
a pecuHar sort of faint dimple on its surface (on the rare 
occasions when he did not overlook it altogether); but to 
the pilot that was an italicized passage; indeed, it w^as 
more than that, it was a legend of the largest capitals, 
with a string of shouting exclamation points at the end of 
It, for it meant that a wreck or a rock was buried there 
that could tear the life out of the strongest vessel that 
ever floated. It is the faintest and simplest expression 
the water ever makes, and the most hideous to a pilot's 
eye. In truth, the passenger who could not read this 
book saw nothing but all manner of pretty pictures in it, 
painted by the sun and shaded by the clouds, whereas to 
the trained eye these were not pictures at all, but the 
grimmest and most dead-earnest of reading matter. 

Now when I had mastered the language of this water, 
and had come to know every trifling feature that bordered 
the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the 
alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had 
lost something, too. I had lost something which could 
never be restored to me while I lived. All the grace, the 
beauty, the poetry, had gone out of the majestic river ! 
I still kept in mind a certain wonderful sunset which I 
witnessed when steamboating was new to me. A broad 
expanse of the river was turned to blood ; in the middle 
distance the red hue brightened into gold, through which 
a solitary log came floating, black and conspicuous ; one 
place a long, slanting mark lay sparkling upon the water ; 
in another the surface was broken by boiling, tumbling 
rings, that were as many-tinted as an opal ; where the 
ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth spot that was 
covered with graceful circles and radiating lines, ever so 
delicately traced ; the shore on our left was densely 
wooded, and the sombre shadow that fell from this forest 
was broken in one place by a long, ruffled trail that shone 



71 



like silver ; and high above the forest wall a clean- 
stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that 
glowed like a flame in the unobstructed splendor that 
was flowing from the sun. There were graceful curves, 
reflected images, woody heights, soft distances; and over 
the whole scene, far and near, the dissolving lights 
drifted steadily, enriching it every passing moment with 
new marvels of coloring, 

I stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speech- 
less rapture. The world was new to me, and I had never 
seen any thing like this at home. But as I have said, a 
day came when I began to cease from noting the glories 
and the charms which the moon and the sun and the twi- 
light wrought upon the river's face; another day came 
when I ceased altogether to note them. Then, if that 
sunset scene had been repeated, I should have looked 
upon it without rapture, and should have commented 
upon it, inwardly, after this fashion: "This sun means 
that we are going to have wind to-morrow; that floating 
log means that the river is rising, small thanks to it; that 
slanting mark on the water refers to a bluff reef which is 
going to kill somebody's steamboat one of these nights, 
if it keeps on stretching out like that; those tumbling 
'boils' show a dissolving bar and a changing channel 
there; the lines and circles in the slick water over yonder 
are a warning that that troublesome place is shoaling up 
dangerously; that silver streak in the shadow of the forest 
is the ' break ' from a new snag, and he has located him- 
self in the very best place he could have found to fish 
for steamboats ; that tall dead tree, with a single living 
branch, is not going to last long, and then how is a body 
ever going to get through this blind place at night with- 
out the friendly old landmark ?" 

No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the 
river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was 



72 



the amount of usefulness it could furnish toward com- 
passing the safe piloting of a steamboat. Since those 
days, I have pitied doctors from my heart. What does 
the lovely flush in a beauty's cheek mean to a doctor but 
a *' break" that ripples above some deadly disease ? Are 
not all her visible charms sown thick with what are to him 
the signs and symbols of hidden decay ? Does he ever 
see her beauty at all, or doesn't he simply view her pro- 
fessionally, and comment upon her unwholesome condi- 
tion all to himself ? And doesn't he sometimes wonder 
whether he has gained most or lost most by learning his 
trade ? 



CHAPTER X 
COMPLETING MY EDUCATION 

Whosoever has done me the courtesy to read my chap- 
ters which have preceded this may possibly wonder that 
I deal so minutely with piloting as a science. It was the 
prime purpose of those chapters; and I am not quite 
done yet. I wish to show, in the most patient and pains- 
taking way, what a wonderful science it is. Ship channels 
are buoyed and lighted, and therefore it is a compara- 
tively easy undertaking to learn to run them; clear- water 
rivers, with gravel bottoms, change their channels very 
gradually, and therefore one needs to learn them but 
once ; but piloting becomes another matter when you 
apply it to vast streams like the Mississippi and the Mis- 
souri, whose alluvial banks cave and change constantly, 
whose snags are always hunting up new quarters, whose 
sand-bars are never at rest, whose channels are forever 
dodging and shirking, and whose obstructions must be 
confronted in all nights and all weathers without the aid 
of a single lighthouse or a single buoy; for there is 
neither light nor buoy to be found anywhere in all this 
three or four thousand miles of villanous river.* I feel 
justified in enlarging upon this great science for the reason 
that I feel sure no one has ever yet written a paragraph 
about it who had piloted a steamboat himself, and so had 
a practical knowledge of the subject. If the theme was 
hackneyed, I should be obliged to deal gently with the 

*True at the time referred to : not true now (1S82). 



74 



reader; but since it is wholly new, I have felt at liberty 
to take up a considerable degree of room with it. 

When I had learned the name and position of every 
visible feature of the river; when I had so mastered its 
shape that I could shut my eyes and trace it from St. 
Louis to New Orleans; when I had learned to read the 
face of the water as one would cull the news from the 
morning paper; -and finally, when I had trained my dull 
memory to treasure up an endless array of soundings and 
crossing-marks, and keep fast hold of them, I judged that 
my education was complete : so I got to tilting my cap 
to the side of my head, and wearing a toothpick in my 
mouth at the wheel. Mr. Bixby had his eye on these airs. 
One day he said : 

'MVhat is the height of that bank yonder, at Bur- 
gess's ? " 

''How can I tell, sir? It is three-quarters of a mile 
away." 

"Very poor eye — very poor. Take the glass." 

I took the glass, and presently said : 

"I can't tell. I suppose that that bank is about a foot 
and a half high." 

*' Foot and a half ! That's a six-foot bank. How high 
was the bank along here last trip ? " 

*' I don't know; I never noticed." 

'' You didn't ? Well, you must always do it hereafter." 

"Why?" 

" Because you'll have to know a good many things that 
it tells you. For one thing, it tells you the stage of the 
river — tells you whether there's more water or less in the 
'river along here than there was last trip." 

"The leads tell me that." I rather thought I had the 
advantage of him there. 

"Yes, but suppose the leads lie? The bank would 
tell you so, and then you'd stir those leadsmen up a bit. 



75 



There was a ten-foot bank here last trip, and there is only 
a six-foot bank now. What does that signify ?" 

"That the river is four feet higher than it was last 
trip." 

"Very good. Is the river rising or falling ? " 

"Rising." 

"No, it ain't." 

"I guess lam right, sir. Yonder is some drift-wood 
floating down the stream." 

"A rise starts the drift-wood, but then it keeps on 
floating a while after the river is done rising. Now the 
bank will tell you about this. Wait till you come to a 
place where it shelves a little. Now here : do you see 
this narrow belt of fine sediment ? That was deposited 
while the water was higher. You see the drift-wood 
begins to strand, too. The bank helps in other ways. 
Do you see that stump on the false point ? " 

" Ay, ay, sir." 

"Well, the water is just up to the roots of it. You 
must make a note of that." 

"Why?" 

"Because that means that there's seven feet in the 
chute of 103." 

"But 103 is a long way up the river yet." 

"That's where the benefit of the bank comes in. 
There is water enough in 103 ?iow, yet there may not be 
by the time we get there, but the bank will keep us posted 
all along. You don't run close chutes on a falling river, 
up-stream, and there are precious few of them that you 
are allowed to run at all down-stream. There's a law of 
the United States against it. The river may be rising 
by the time we get to 103, and in that case we'll run it. 
We are drawing — how much ?" 

^' Six feet aft — six and a half forward." 

"Well, you do seem to know something." 



76 



''But what I particularly want to know is, if I have got 
to keep up an everlasting measuring of the banks of this 
river, twelve hundred miles, month in and month out?" 

''Of course ! " 

My emotions were too deep for words for a while. 
Presently I said: 

"And how about these chutes? Are there many of 
them ? " 

"I should say so! I fancy we shan't run any of the 
river this trip as you've ever seen it run before — so to 
speak. If the river begins to rise again, w^e'U go up 
behind bars that you've always seen standing out of the 
river, high and dry, like the roof of a house ; we'll cut 
across low places that you've never noticed at all, right 
through the middle of bars that cover three hundred 
acres of river ; we'll creep through cracks where you've 
always thought was solid land ; we'll dart through the 
woods and leave twenty-five miles of river off to one side ; 
we'll see the hind side of every island between New 
Orleans and Cairo." 

"Then I've got to go to work and learn just as much 
more river as I already know." 

" Just about twice as much more, as near as you can 
come at it." 

"Well, one lives to find out. I think I was a fool 
when I went into this business." 

"Yes, that is true. And you are yet. But you'll not 
be when you've learned it." 

"Ah, I never can learn it !" 

"I will see that you do.'' 

By and by I ventured again : 

" Have I got to learn all this thing just as I know the 
rest of the river — shapes and all — and so I can run it at 
night?". 

"Yes. And you've got to have good fair marks from 



77 



one end of the river to the other, that will help the bank 
tell you when there is water enough in each of these 
countless places — like that stump, you know. When the 
river first begins to rise, you can run half a dozen of the 
deepest of them ; when it rises a foot more you can run 
another dozen ; the next foot will add a couple of dozen, 
and so on : so you see you have to know your banks and 
marks to a dead moral certainty, and never get them 
mixed ; for when you start through one of those cracks, 
there's no backing out again, as there is in the big river ; 
you've got to go through, or stay there six months if you 
get caught on a falling river. There are about fifty of 
these cracks which you can't run at all except when the 
river is brimful and over the banks." 

''This new lesson is a cheerful prospect." 

" Cheerful enough. And mind what I've just told you ; 
when you start into one of those places you've got to go 
through. They are too narrow to turn around in, too 
crooked to back out of, and the shoal water is always up 
at the head ; never elsewhere. And the head of them is 
always likely to be filling up, little by little, so that the 
marks you reckon their depth by, this season, may not 
answer for next." 

''Learn a new set, then, every year?" 

"Exactly. Cramp her up to the bar ! What are you 
standing up through the middle of the river for ? " 

The next few months showed me strange things. On 
the same day that we held the conversation above nar- 
rated we met a great rise coming down the river. The 
whole vast face of the stream was black with drifting 
dead logs, broken boughs, and great trees that had caved 
in and been washed away. It required the nicest steering 
to pick one's way through this rushing raft, even in the 
daytime, when crossing from point to point ; and at 
night the difficulty was mightily increased ; every now 



78 



and then a huge log, lying deep in the water, would sud- 
denly appear right under our bows, coming head-on ; no 
use to try to avoid it then ; we could only stop the 
engines, and one wheel would walk over that log from 
one end to the other, keeping up a thundering racket and 
careening the boat in a way that was very uncomfortable 
to passengers. Now and then we would hit one of these 
sunken logs a rattling bang, dead in the center, with a 
full head of steam, and it would stun the boat as if she 
had hit a continent. Sometimes this log would lodge and 
stay right across our nose, and back the Mississippi up 
before it ; we would have to do a little crawfishing, then, 
to get away from the obstruction. We often hit 7i>/n'fe 
logs in the dark, for we could not see them till we were 
right on them, but a black log is a pretty distinct object 
at night. A white snag is an ugly customer when the 
daylight is gone. 

Of course, on the great rise, down came a swarm of 
prodigious timber-rafts from the head waters of the 
Mississippi, coal barges from Pittsburg, little trading 
scows from everywhere, and broadhorns from '' Posey 
County," Indiana, freighted with '' fruit and furniture " — 
the usual term for describing it, though in plain English 
the freight thus aggrandized was hoop-poles and pump- 
kins. Pilots bore a mortal hatred to these craft, and it 
was returned with usury. The law required all such 
helpless traders to keep a light burning, but it was a law 
that was often broken. All of a sudden, on ,a murky 
night, a light would hop up, right under our bows, 
almost, and an agonized voice, with the backwoods 
"whang" to it, would wail out : 

'^ Whar'n the you goin' to ! Cain't you see nothin', 

you dash-dashed aig-suckin', sheep-stealin', one-eyed son 
of a stuffed monkey ! " 

Then for an instant, as we whistled by, the red glare 



79 



from our furnaces would reveal the scow and the form of 
the gesticulating orator, as if under a lightning-flash, and 
in that instant our firemen and deck-hands would send 
and receive a tempest of missiles and profanity, one of 
our wheels would walk off with the crashing fragments of 
a steering-oar, and down the dead blackness would shut 
again. And that flatboatman would be sure to go into 
New Orleans and sue our boat, swearing stoutly that he 
had a light burning all the time, when in truth his gang 
had the lantern down below to sing and lie and drink and 
gamble by, and no watch on deck. Once, at night, in 
one of those forest-bordered crevices (behind an island) 
which steamboatmen intensely describe with the phrase 
"as dark as the inside of a cow," we should have eaten 
up a Posey County family, fruit, furniture, and all, but 
that they happened to be fiddling down below and we just 
caught the sound of the music in time to sheer off, doing 
no serious damage, unfortunately, but coming so near it 
that we had good hopes for a moment. These people 
brought up their lantern, then, of course ; and as we 
backed and filled to get away, the precious family stood 
in the light of it — both sexes and various ages — and 
cursed us till every thing turned blue. Once a coalboat- 
man sent a bullet through our pilot-house when we bor- 
rowed a steering-oar of him in a very narrow place. 



CHAPTER XI 
THE RIVER RISES 

During this big rise these small-fry craft were an 
intolerable nuisance. We were running chute after 
chute, — a new world to me, — and if there was a particu- 
larly cramped place in a chute, we would be pretty sure 
to meet a broadhorn there ; and if he failed to be there, 
we would find him in a still worse locality, namely, the 
head of the chute, on the shoal water. And then there 
would be no end of profane cordialities exchanged. 

Sometimes, in the big river, when we would be feeling 
our way cautiously along through a fog, the deep hush 
would suddenly be broken by yells and a clamor of tin 
pans, and all in an instant a log raft would appear 
vaguely through the webby veil, close upon us ; and then 
we did not wait to swap knives, but snatched our engine- 
bells out by the roots and piled on all the steam we had, 
to scramble out of the way ! One doesn't hit a rock or a 
solid log raft with a steamboat when he can get excused. 

You will hardly believe it, but many steamboat clerks 
always carried a large assortment of religious tracts with 
them in those old departed steamboating days. Indeed 
they did ! Twenty times a day we would be cramping up 
around a bar, while a string of these small-fry rascals 
were drifting down into the head of the bend away above 
and beyond us a couple of miles. Now a skiff would 
dart away from one of them, and come fighting its 
laborious way across the desert of water. It would " ease 
all " in the shadow of our forecastle, and the panting 



oarsmen would shout, "Gimme a pa-a-per I " as the skiff 
drifted swiftly astern. The clerk would throw over a file 
of New Orleans journals. If these were picked up tvithoiit 
conunent, you might notice that now a dozen other skiffs 
had been drifting down upon us without saying any thing. 
You understand, they had been waiting to see how No. i 
was going to fare. No. i making no comment, all the 
rest would bend to their oars and come on, now ; and as 
fast as they came the clerk would heave over neat bundles 
of religious tracts, tied to shingles. The amount of hard 
swearing which twelve packages of religious literature 
will command when impartially divided up among twelve 
raftsmen's crews, who have pulled a heavy skiff two miles 
on a hot day to get them, is simply incredible. 

As I have said, the big rise brought a new world under 
my vision. By the time the river was over its banks we 
had forsaken our old paths and were hourly climbing over 
bars that had stood ten feet out of water before; we were 
shaving stumpy shores, like that at the foot of Madrid 
Bend, which I had always seen avoided before; we were 
clattering through chutes like that of 82, where the open- 
ing at the foot was an unbroken wall of timber till our 
nose was almost at the very spot. Some of these chutes 
were utter solitudes. The dense, untouched forest over- 
hung both banks of the crooked little crack, and one 
could believe that human creatures had never intruded 
there before. The swinging grape-vines, the grassy 
nooks and vistas glimpsed as we swept by, the flowering 
creepers waving their red blossoms from the tops of dead 
trunks, and all the spendthrift richness of the forest 
foliage, were wasted and thrown away there. The chutes 
were lovely places to steer in; they were deep, except at 
the head; the current was gentle; under the "points" 
the water was absolutely dead, and the invisible banks so 
bluff that where the tender willow thickets projected you 
6 



82 



could bury your boat's broadside in them as you tore 
along, and then you seemed fairly to fly. 

Behind other islands we found wretched little farms, 
and wretcheder little log-cabins; there were crazy rail 
f.nices sticking a foot or two above the water, with one 
or two jeans-clad, chills-racked, yellow-faced male miser- 
ables roosting on the top rail, elbows on knees, jaws in 
hands, grinding tobacco and discharging the result at 
f:oating chips through crevices left by lost teeth ; while 
the rest of the family and the few farmx-animals were 
huddled together in an empty wood-flat riding at her 
moorings close at hand. In this flatboat the family would 
Iiave to cook and eat and sleep for a lesser or greater 
number of days (or possibly weeks), until the river should 
fall two or three feet and let them get back to their log- 
cabin and their chills again — chills being a merciful pro- 
vision of an all-wise Providence to enable them to take 
exercise without exertion. And this sort of watery camp- 
ing out was a thing which these people were rather liable 
to be treated to a couple of times a year : by the Decem- 
ber rise out of the Ohio, and the June rise out of the 
i»Iississippi. And yet these were kindly dispensations, 
f:)r they at least enabled the poor things to rise from the 
dead now and then, and look upon life when a steamboat 
Vv-ent by. They appreciated the blessing, too, for they 
spread their mouths and eyes wide open and made the 
most of these occasions. Now what could these banished 
creatures find to do to keep from dying of the blues dur- 
i]ig the low-water season ! 

Once, in one of these lovely island chutes, we found our 
course completely bridged by a great fallen tree. This will 
serve to show how narrow some of the chutes were. The 
passengers had an hour's recreation in a virgin wilder- 
ness, while the boat-hands chopped the bridge away; for 
there was no such thing as turning back, you comprehend. 



S3 



From Cairo to Baton Rouge, when the river is over its 
banks, you have no particular trouble in the night; for 
the thousand-mile wall of dense forest that guards the 
two banks all the w^ay is only gapped with a farm or 
wood-yard opening at intervals, and so you can't "get 
out of the river " much easier than you could get out of a 
fenced lane; but from Baton Rouge to New Orleans it is 
a different matter. The river is more than a mile wide, 
and very deep — as much as two hundred feet, in places. 
Both banks, for a good deal over a hundred miles, are 
shorn of their timber and bordered by continuous sugar 
plantations, with only here and there a scattering sapling 
or row of ornamental China-trees. The timber is shorn 
off clear to the rear of the plantations, from two to four 
miles. When the first frost threatens to come, the 
planters snatch off their crops in a hurry. When they 
have finished grinding the cane, they form the refuse of 
the stalks (which they call bagasse) into great piles and set 
fire to them, though in other sugar countries the bagasse 
is used for fuel in the furnaces of the sugar mills. Now 
the piles of damp bagasse burn slowly, and smoke like 
Satan's own kitchen. 

An embankment ten or fifteen feet high guards botii 
banks of the Mississippi all the way down that lower end 
of the river, and this embankmen't is set back from the 
t6gQ of the shore from ten to perhaps a hundred feet, 
according to circumstances; say thirty or forty feet, as a 
general thing. Fill that whole region w^ith an impene- 
trable gloom of smoke from a hundred miles of burning- 
bagasse piles, when the river is over the banks, and turn 
a steamboat loose along there at midnight and see how 
she will feel. And see how you will feel, too ! You find 
yourself away out in the midst of a vague, dim sea that is 
shoreless, that fades out and loses itself in the murky dis- 
tances; for you cannot discern the thin rib of embank- 



84 



ment, and you are always imagining you see a straggling 
tree when you don't. The plantations themselves are 
transformed by the smoke, and look like a part of the 
sea. All through your v^atch you are tortured with the 
exquisite misery of uncertainty. You hope you are keep- 
ing in the river, but you do not know. All that you are 
sure about is that you are likely to be within six feet of 
the bank and destruction, when you think you are a good 
half-mile from shore. And you are sure, also, that if you 
chance suddenly to fetch up against the embankment and 
topple your chimneys overboard, you will have the small 
comfort of knowing that it is about what you were expect- 
ing to do. One of the great Vicksburg packets darted 
out into a sugar plantation one night, at such a time, and 
had to stay there a week. But there was no novelty about 
it; it had often been done before. 

I thought I had finished this chapter, but I wish to add 
a curious thing, while it is in my mind. It is only rele- 
vant in that it is connected with piloting. There used 
to be an excellent pilot on the river, a Mr. X., w^ho was a 
somnambulist. It was said that if his mind was troubled 
about a bad piece of river, he was pretty sure to get 
up and walk in his sleep and do strange things. He' was 
once fellow-pilot for a trip or two with George Ealer, on 
a great New Orleans* passenger packet. Daring a con- 
siderable part of the first trip George was uneasy, but got 
over it by and by, as X. seemed content to stay in his 
bed when asleep. Late one night the boat was approach- 
ing Helena, Ark. ; the water was low, and the crossing- 
above the town in a very blind and tangled condition. 
X. had seen the crossing since Ealer had, and as the 
night was particularly drizzly, sullen, and dark, Ealer 
v/as considering whether he had not better have X. called 
to assist in running the place, when the door opened and 
X. walked in. Now, on very dark nights, light is a deadly 



85 



enemy to piloting ; you are aware that if you stand in a 
lighted room, on such a night, you cannot see things in 
the street to any purpose ; but if you put out the lights 
and stand in the gloom you can make out objects in the 
street pretty well. So, on very dark nights, pilots do 
not smoke; they allow no fire in the pilot-house stove, if 
there is a crack which can allow the least ray to escape; 
they order the furnaces to be curtained with huge tar- 
paulins and the sky-lights to be closely blinded. Then 
no light whatever issues from the boat. The undefinable 
shape that now entered the pilot-house had Mr. X.'s voice. 
This said : 

''Let me take her, George; I've seen this place since 
you have, and it is so crooked that I reckon I can run it 
myself easier than I could tell you how to do it." 

"It is kind of you, and I swear /am willing. I haven't 
got another drop of perspiration left in me. I have been 
spinning around and around the wheel like a squirrel. It 
is so dark I can't tell which way she is swinging till she 
is coming around like a whirligig." 

So Ealer took a seat on the bench, panting and breath- 
less. The black phantom assumed the wheel without 
saying any thing, steadied the w^altzing steamer with a 
turn or two, and then stood at ease, coaxing her a little 
to this side and then to that, as gently and as sweetly as 
if the time had been noonday. When Ealer observed 
this marvel of steering, he wished he had not confessed! 
He stared, and wondered, and finally said: 

"Well, I thought I knew how to steer a steamboat, 
but that was another mistake of mine." 

X. said nothing, but went serenely on with his work. 
He rang for the leads; he rang to slov/ down the steam; 
he worked the boat carefully and neatly into invisible 
marks, then stood at the centre of the v/heel and peered 
blandly out into the blackness, fore and aft, to verify his 



86 



position; as the leads shoaled more and more, he stopped 
the engines entirely, and the dead silence and suspense 
of "drifting" followed; when the shoalest water was 
struck, he cracked on the steam, carried her handsomely 
over, and then began to work her warily into the next 
system of shoal marks; the same patient, heedful use of 
leads and engines followed, the boat slipped through 
without touching bottom, and entered upon the third and 
last intricacy of the crossing ; imperceptibly she moved 
through the gloom, crept by inches into her marks, 
drifted tediously till the shoalest water was cried, and 
then, under a tremendous head of steam, went swinging 
over the reef and away into deep water and safety ! 

Ealer let his long-pent breath pour out in a great, 
relieving sigh, and said: 

"That's the sweetest piece of piloting that was ever 
done on the Mississippi River I I wouldn't believed it 
could be done, if I hadn't seen it." 

There was no reply, and he added : 

"Just hold her five minutes longer, partner, and let 
me run down and get a cup of coffee." 

A minute later Ealer was biting into a pie, down in the 
"texas," and comforting himself with coffee. Just then 
tha night watchman happened in, and was about to 
happen out again, when he noticed Ealer and exclaimed: 

"Who is at the wheel, sir ? " 

"X." 

" Dart for the pilot-house, quicker than lightning ! " 

The next moment both men were flying up the pilot- 
house companion-way, three steps at a jump ! Nobody 
there ! The great steamer was whistling down the middle 
of the river at her own sweet will ! The watchman shot 
cut of the place again; Ealer seized the wheel, set an 
engine back with power, and held his breath while the 
boat reluctantly swung away from a "towhead," which 



87 



she was about to knock into the middle of the Gulf of 
Mexico ! 

By and by the watchman came back and said: 

'' Didn't that lunatic tell you he was asleep, when he 
first came up here? ' 

''No." 

''Well, he was. I found him walking along on top of 
the railings, just as unconcerned as another man would 
walk a pavement; and I put him to bed; now just this 
minute there he was again, away astern, going through 
that sort of tight-rope deviltry the same as before." 

"Well, I think I'll stay by next time he has one of 
those fits. But I hope he'll have them often. You just 
ought to have seen him take this boat through Helena 
crossing. / never saw any thing so gaudy before. And 
if he can do such gold-leaf, kid-glove, diamond-breastpin 
piloting when he is sound asleep, what couldn i he do if he 
was dead ! " 



CHAPTER XII 
SOUNDING 

When the river is very low, and one's steamboat is 
*• drawing all the water" there is in the channel, — or a few 
inches more, as was often the case in the old times, — one 
must be painfully circumspect in his piloting. We used 
to have to "sound " a number of particularly bad places 
almost every trip when the river was at a very low stage. 

Sounding is done in this way: The boat ties up at the 
shore, just above the shoal crossing; the pilot not on 
watch takes his "cub" or steersman and a picked crew 
of men (sometimes an officer also), and goes out in the 
yawl — provided the boat has not that rare and sumptuous 
luxury, a regularly devised "sounding-boat" — and pro- 
ceeds to hunt for the best water, the pilot on duty watch- 
ing his movements through a spy-glass, meantime, and in 
some instances assisting by signals of the boat's whistle, 
signifying "try higher up" or "try lower down"; for 
the surface of the water, like an oil-painting, is more 
expressive and iutelligible when inspected from a little 
distance than very close at hand. The whistle signals are 
seldom necessary, however; never, perhaps, except when* 
the wind confuses the significant ripples upon the water's 
surface. When the yawl has reached the shoal place, the 
speed is slackened, the pilot begins to sound the depth 
with a pole ten or twelve feet long, and the steersman at 
the tiller obeys the order to "hold her up to starboard;" 
or "let her fall off to larboard ";* or "steady — steady as 
you go." 

* The term " larboard" is never used at sea, now, to signify tlie left 
hand ; but was always used on the river in rny time. 



89 



When the measurements indicate that the yawl is 
approaching the shoalest part of the reef, the command 
is given to " Ease all! " Then the men stop rowing and 
the yawl drifts with the current. The next order is, 
^' Stand by with the buoy ! " The moment the shallowest 
point is reached, the pilot delivers the order, "Let go 
the buoy!" and over she goes. If the pilot is not satis- 
fied, he sounds the place again; if he finds better water 
higher up or lower down, he removes the buoy to that 
place. Being finally satisfied, he gives the order, and all 
the men stand their oars straight up in the air, in line; a 
blast from the boat's whistle indicates that the signal has 
been seen; then the men "give way" on their oars and 
lay the yawl alongside the buoy; the steamer comes 
creeping carefully down, is pointed straight at the 
buoy, husbands her power for the coming struggle, and 
presently, at the critical moment, turns on all her steam 
and goes grinding and wallowing over the buoy and the 
sand, and gains the deep water beyond. Or maybe she 
doesn't; maybe she " strikes and swings." Then she has 
to while away several hours (or days) sparring herself off. 

Sometimes a buoy is not laid at all, but the yawl goes 
ahead, hunting the best water, and the steamer follows 
along in its wake. Often there is a deal of fun and excite- 
ment about sounding, especially if it is a glorious summer 
day, or a blustering night. But in winter the cold and 
the peril take most of the fun out of it. 

A buoy is nothing Uut a board four or five feet long, 
with one end turned up; it is a reversed school-house 
bench, with one of the supports left and the other 
removed. It is anchored on the shoalest part of ths reef 
by a rope with a heavy stone made fast to the end of it. 
But for the resistance of the turned-up end of the reversed 
bench, the current would pull the buoy under water. At 
night, a paper lantern v/ith a candle in it is fastened on 



90 



top of the buoy, and this can be seen a mile or more, a 
little glimmering spark in the waste of blackness. 

Nothing delights a cub so much as an opportunity to 
go out sounding. There is such an air of adventure 
about it; often there is danger; it is so gaudy and man- 
of-war-like to sit up in the stern-sheets and steer a swift 
yawl; there is something fine about the exultant spring 
of the boat when an experienced old sailor crew throw 
their souls into the oars; it is lovely to see the white 
foam stream away from the bows; there is music in the 
rush of the water; it is deliciously exhilarating, in 
summer, to go speeding over the breezy expanses of the 
river when the world of wavelets is dancing in the sun. 
It is such grandeur, too, to the cub, to get a chance to 
give an order; for often the pilot will simply say, "Let 
her go about ! " and leave the rest to the cub, who 
instantly cries, in his sternest tone of command, ''Ease, 
starboard ! Strong on the larboard ! Starboard, give 
way! With a will, men ! " The cub enjoys sounding for 
the further reason that the eyes of the passengers are 
watching all the yawl's movements with absorbing interest, 
if the time be daylight; and if it be night, he knows that 
those same wondering eyes are fastened upon the yawl's 
lantern as it glides out into the gloom and dims away in 
the remote distance. 

One trip a pretty girl of sixteen spent her time in our 
pilot-house with her uncle and aunt, every day and all day 
long. I fell in love with her. So did Mr. Thornburg's 
cub, Tom G. Tom and I had been bosom friends until 
this time; but now a coolness began to arise. I told 
the girl a good many of my river adventures, and made 
myself out a good deal of a hero; Tom tried to make 
himself appear to be a hero, too, and succeeded to some 
extent, but then he always had a way of embroidering. 
However, virtue is its own reward, so I was a barely 



91 



perceptible trifle ahead in the contest. About this time 
something happened which promised handsomely for me: 
the pilots decided to sound the crossing at the head of 
21. This would occur about nine or ten o'clock at night, 
when the passengers would be still up; it would be Mr. 
Thornburg's watch, therefore my chief would have to do 
the sounding. We had a perfect love of a sounding- 
boat — long, trim, graceful, and as fleet as a greyhound; 
her thwarts were cushioned; she carried twelve oarsmen; 
one of the mates v/as always sent in her to transmit orders 
to her crew, for ours was a steamer where no end of 
'' style " was put on. 

We tied up at the shore above 21, and got ready. It 
was a foul night, and the river was so wide, there, that a 
landsman's uneducated eyes could discern no opposite 
shore through such a gloom. The passengers were alert 
and interested; every thing was satisfactory. As I 
hurried through the engine-room, picturesquely gotten 
up in storm toggery, I met Tom, and could not forbear 
delivering myself of a mean speech: 

" Ain't you glad_>w^ don't have to go out sounding ? " 

Tom was passing on, but he quickly turned, and said : 

"Now just for that, you can go and get the sounding- 
pole yourself. I was going after it, but I'd see you in 
Halifax, now, before I'd do it." 

"Who wants you to get it? I don't. It's in the 
sounding-boat." 

"It ain't, either. It's been new-painted; and it's been 
up on the ladies' cabin guards two days, drying." 

I flew back, and shortly arrived among the crowd of 
watching and wondering ladies just in time to hear the 
command: 

"Give way, men ! " 

I looked over, and there was the gallant sounding-boat 
booming away, the unprincipled Tom presiding at the 



92 



tiller, and my chief sitting by him with the sounding-pole 
which I had been sent on a fool's errand to fetch. Then 
that young girl said to me : 

'' Oh, how awful to have to go out in that little boat on 
such a night! Do you think there is any danger ? " 

I would rather have been stabbed. I went off, full of 
venom, to help in the pilot-house. By and by the boat's 
lantern disappeared, and after an interval a wee spark 
glimmered upon the face of the water a mile away. Mr. 
Thornburg blew the whistle in acknowledgment, backed 
the steamer out, and made for it. We flew along for 
a while, then slackened steam and went cautiously gliding 
toward the spark. Presently Mr. Thornburg exclaimed: 

" Hello, the buoy-lantern's out! " 

He stopped the engines. A moment or two later he 
said: 

'^ Why, there it is again ! " 

So he came ahead on the engines once more, and rang 
for the leads. Gradually the water shoaled up, and then 
began to deepen again! Mr. Thornburg muttered : 

''Well, I don't understand this. I believe that buoy 
has drifted off the reef. Seems to be a little too far to 
the left. No matter, it is safest to run over it, anyhow." 

So, in that solid world of darkness we went creeping 
down on the light. Just as our bows were in the act of 
ploughing over it, Mr. Thornburg seized the bell-ropes, 
rang a startling peal, and exclaimed: 

''My soul, it's the sounding-boat!" 

A sudden chorus of wild alarms burst out far below — a 
pause — and then a sound of grinding and crashing fol- 
lowed. Mr. Thornburg exclaimed : 

"There! the paddle-wheel has ground the sounding- 
boat to lucifer matches I Run! See who is killed ! " 

I was on the main-deck in the twinkling of an eye. 
My chief and the third mate and nearly all the men were 



J 



93 



safe. They had discovered their danger when it was too 
late to pull out of the way; then, when the great guards 
overshadowed them a moment later, they were prepared 
and knew what to do; at my chief's order they sprang 
at the right instant, seized the guard, and were hauled 
aboard. The next moment the sounding-yawl swept aft 
to the wheel and was struck and splintered to atoms. 
Two of the men and the cub Tom were missing— a fact 
which spread like wild-fire over the boat. The passengers 
came flocking to the forward gangway, ladies and all, 
anxious-eyed, white-faced, and talked in awed voices of 
the dreadful thing. And often and again I heard them 
say, "Poor fellows! poor boy, poor boy ! " 

By this time the boat's yawl was manned and away, to 
search for the missing. Now a faint call was heard, off 
to the left. The yawl had disappeared in the other direc- 
tion. Half the people rushed to one side to encourage 
the swimmer with their shouts; the other half rushed the 
other way to shriek to the yawl to turn about. By the 
callings the swimmer w^as approaching, but some said 
the sound showed failing strength. The crowd massed 
themselves against the boiler-deck railings, leaning over 
and staring into the gloom; and every faint and fainter 
cry wrung from them such words as "Ah, poor fellow, 
poor fellow ! is there 710 way to save him ? " 

But still the cries held out, and drew nearer, and pres- 
ently the voice said pluckily : 

" I can make it ! Stand by with a rope ! " 

What a rousing cheer they gave him ! The chief mate 
took his stand in the glare of a torch-basket, a coil of 
rope in his hand, and his men grouped about him. The 
next moment the swimmer's face appeared in the circle 
of light, and in another one the owner of it was hauled 
aboard, limp and drenched, while cheer on cheer went up. 
It was that devil Tom. 



94 



The yawl crew searched everywhere, but found no sign 
of the two men. They probably failed to catch the guard, 
tumbled back, and were struck by the wheel and killed. 
Tom had never jumped for the guard at all, but had 
plunged head-first into the river and dived under the wheel. 
It was nothing; I could have done it easy enough, and I 
said so; but every-body went on just the same, making a 
wonderful to-do over that ass, as if he had done some- 
thing great. That girl couldn't seem to have enough of 
that pitiful '' hero " the rest of the trip; but little I cared; 
I loathed her, any way. 

The way we came to mistake the sounding-boat's lan- 
tern for the buoy-light was this: My chief said that 
after laying the buoy he fell away and watched it till it 
seemed to be secure; then he took up a position a hun- 
dred yards below it and a little to one side of the steamer's 
course, headed the sounding-boat up-stream, and waited. 
Having to wait some time, he and the officer got to talk- * 
ing; he looked up when he judged that the steamer 
was about on the reef; saw that the buoy was gone, but 
supposed that the steamer had already run over it; he 
went on with his talk; he noticed that the steamer was 
getting very close down to him, but that was the correct 
thing; it was her business to shave him closely, for con- 
venience in taking him aboard; he was expecting her to 
sheer off, until the last moment; then it flashed upon him 
that she was trying to run him down, mistaking his lan- 
tern for the buoy-light; so he sang out, "Stand by to 
spring for the guard, men!" and the next instant the 
jump was made. 



CHAPTER XIII 

A pilot's needs 

But I am wandering from what I was intending to do; 
that is, make plainer than perhaps appears in the previous 
chapters some of the peculiar requirements of the science 
of piloting. First of all, there is one faculty which a 
pilot must incessantly cultivate until he has brought it to 
absolute perfection. Nothing short of perfection w411 do. 
That faculty is memory. He cannot stop with merely 
thinking a thing is so and so; he must know it; for this is 
eminently one of the "exact" sciences. With what scorn 
a pilot was looked upon, in the old times, if he ever ven- 
tured to deal in that feeble phrase ''I think," instead of 
the vigorous one " I know ! " One cannot easily realize 
what a tremendous thing it is to know every trivial 
detail of twelve hundred miles of river and know it with 
absolute exactness. If you will take the longest street in 
New York, and travel up and down it, conning its features 
patiently until you know every house and window and 
lamp-post and big and little sign by heart, and know them 
so accurately that you can instantly name the one you 
are abreast of when you are set down at random in that 
street in the middle of an inky black night, you will then 
have a tolerable notion of the amount and the exactness 
of a pilot's knowledge who carries the Mississippi River 
in his head. And then, if you will go on until you know 
every street crossing, the character, size, and position of 
the crossing-stones, and the varying depth of mud in 
each of those numberless places, you will have some idea 
of what the pilot must know in order to keep a Mississippi 



96 



steamer out of trouble. Next, if you will take half of the 
signs in that long street, and change their places once a 
month, and still manage to know their new positions 
accurately on dark nights, and keep up with these 
repeated changes without making any mistakes, you 
will understand what is required of a pilot's peerless 
memory by the fickle Mississippi. 

I think a pilot's memory is about the most wonderful 
thing in the world. To know the Old and New Testa- 
ments by heart, and be able to recite them glibly, forward 
or backward, or begin at random anywhere in the book 
and recite both ways and never trip or make a mistake, 
is no extravagant mass of knowledge, and no marvellous 
facility, compared to a pilot's massed knowledge of the 
Mississippi and his marvellous facility in the handling of 
it. I make this comparison deliberately, and believe I am 
not expanding the truth when I do it. Many will think 
my figure too strong, but pilots will not. 

And how easily and comfortably the pilot's m.emory 
does its work; how placidly effortless is its way; how 
unconsciously it lays up its vast stores, hour by hour, day 
by day, and never loses or mislays a single valuable 
package of them all ! Take an instance. Let a leads- 
man cry, "Half twain! half twain! half twain! half 
twain ! half twain ! " until it becomes as monotonous as 
the ticking of a clock ; let conversation be going on all the 
time, and the pilot be doing his share of the talking, and 
no longer consciously listening to the leadsman; and in 
the midst of this endless string of half twains let a single 
** quarter twain ! " be interjected, without emphasis, and 
then the half twain cry go on again, just as before : two 
or three weeks later that pilot can describe with precision 
the boat's position in the river when that quarter twain 
was uttered, and give you such a lot of head-marks, stern- 
marks, and side-marks to guide you, that you ought to be 



97 



able to take the boat there and put her in that same spot 
again yourself ! The cry of '' quarter twain " did not 
really take his mind from his talk, but his trained facul- 
ties instantly photographed the bearings, noted the 
change of depth, and laid up the important details for 
future reference without requiring any assistance from 
him in the matter. If you were walking and talking with 
a friend, and another friend at your side kept up a 
monotonous repetition of the vowel sound A, for a couple 
of blocks, and then in the midst interjected an R, thus, 
A, A, A, A, A, R, A, A, A, etc., and gave the R no 
emphasis, you would not be able to state, two or three 
weeks afterward, that the R had been put in, nor be able 
to tell what objects you were passing at the moment it 
was done. But you could if your memory had been 
patiently and laboriously trained to do that sort of thing 
mechanically. 

Give a man a tolerably fair memory to start with, and 
piloting will develop it into a very colossus of capability. 
But only in the matters it is daily drilled in.. A time would 
come when the man's faculties could not help noticing 
landmarks and soundings, and his memory could not help 
holding on to them with the grip of a vice; but if you 
asked that same man at noon what he had had for break- 
fast, it would be ten chances to one that he could not 
tell you. Astonishing things can be done with the human 
memory if you will devote it faithfully to one particular 
line of business. 

At the time that wages soared so high on the Missouri 
River, my chief, Mr. Bixby, went up there and learned 
more than a thousand miles of that stream with an ease 
and rapidity that were astonishing. When he had seen 
each division once in the daytime and ojice at night, his 
education was so nearly complete that he took out a 
*' daylight" license; a few trips later he took out a full 



license, and went to piloting day and night- and he 
ranked A i, too. 

Mr. Bixby placed me as steersman for a while under a 
pilot whose feats of memory were a constant marvel to 
me. However, his memory was born in him, I think, not 
built. For instance, somebody would mention a name. 
Instantly Mr. Brown would break in : 

"Oh, I knew ///;//. Sallow-faced, red-headed fellow, 
with a little scar on the side of his throat, like a splinter 
under the flesh. He was only in the Southern trade six 
months. That was thirteen years ago. I made a trip 
with him. There was five feet in the upper river then; 
the Henry Blake grounded at the foot of Tower Island 
drawing four and a half; the George Elliott unshipped her 
rudder on the wreck of the Sunflower " 

"Why, the Sunflozaer didn't sink until " 



"/ know when she sunk; it was three years before 
that, on the 2d of December; Asa Hardy was captain of 
her, and his brother John was first clerk ; and it was his 
first trip in her, too; Tom Jones told me these things a 
week afterward in New Orleans; he was first mate of the 
Sunflower. Captain Hardy stuck a nail in his foot the 
6th of July of the next year, and died of the lockjaw on 
the 15th. His brother John died two years after, — 3d of 
March, — erysipelas. I never saw either of the Hardys, — 
they were Alleghany River men, — but people who knew 
them told me all these things. And they said Captain 
Hardy wore yarn socks winter and summer just the same, 
and his first wife's name was Jane Shook, — she was from 
New England, — and his second one died in a lunatic 
asylum. It was in the blood. She was from Lexington, 
Kentucky. Name was Horton before she was married." 

And so on, by the hour, the man's tongue 
He could not forget any thing. It was simply impossiu.^. 
The most trivial details remained as distinct and luminous 



99 



in his head, after they had lain there for years, as the 
most memorable events. His was not simply a pilot's 
memory; its grasp was universal. If he were talking 
about a trifling letter he had received seven years before, 
he was pretty sure to deliver you the entire screed from 
memory. And then, without observing that he was de- 
parting from the true line of his talk, he was more than 
likely to hurl in a long-drawn parenthetical biography of 
the writer of that letter; and you were lucky indeed if he 
did not take up that writer's relatives, one by one, and 
give you their biographies, too. 

Such a memory as that is a great misfortune. To it, 
all occurrences are of the same size. Its possessor can- 
not distinguish an interesting circumstance from an 
uninteresting one. As a talker, he is bound to clog his 
narrative with tiresome details and make himself an 
insufferable bore. Moreover, he cannot stick to his 
subject. He picks up every little grain of memory he 
discerns in his way, and so is led aside. Mr. Brown 
would start out with the honest intention of telling 
you a vastly funny anecdote about a dog. He would be 
" so full of laugh" that he could hardly begin; then his 
memor)/ would start with the dog's breed and personal 
appearance; drift into a history of his owner; of his 
owner's family, with descriptions of weddings and burials 
that had occurred in it, together with recitals of con- 
gratulatory verses and obituary poetry provoked by the 
same; then 'is memory would recollect that one of these 
events occurred during the celebrated " hard winter" of 
such and such a year, and a minute description of that 
winter would follow, along with the names of people who 
were frozen to death, and statistics showing the high 
figures which pork and hay went up to. Pork and hay 
would suggest corn and fodder; corn and fodder would 
suggest cows and horses; cows and horses would suggest 



the circus and certain celebrated bare-back riders; the 
transition from the circus to the menagerie was easy and 
natural; from the elephant to equatorial Africa was but a 
step; then of course the heathen savages would suggest 
religion; and at the end of three or four hours' tedious 
jaw, the watch would change, and Brown would go out 
of the pilot-house muttering extracts from sermons he 
had heard years before about the efficacy of prayer as a 
means of grace. And the original first mention would 
be all you had learned about that dog, after all this wait- 
ing and hungering. 

A pilot must have a memory; but there are two higher 
qualities which he must also have. He must have good 
and quick judgment and decision, and a cool, calm 
courage that no peril can shake. Give a man the merest 
trifle of pluck to start with, and by the time he has be- 
come a pilot he cannot be unmanned by any danger a 
steamboat can get into; but one cannot quite say the 
same for judgment. Judgment is a matter of brains, and 
a man must start with a good stock of that article or he 
will never succeed as a pilot. 

The growth of courage in the pilot-house is steady all 
the time, but it does not reach a high and satisfactory 
condition until some time after the young pilot has been 
" standing his own watch " alone and under the stagger- 
ing weight of all the responsibilities connected wnth 
the position. When an apprentice has become pretty 
thoroughly acquainted with the river, he goes clattering 
along so fearlessly with his steamboat, night or day, that 
he presently begins to imagine that it is his courage that 
animates him; but the first time the pilot steps out and 
leaves him to his own devices he finds out it was the other 
man's. He discovers that the article has been left out 
of his own cargo altogether. The whole river is bristling 
with exigencies in a moment; he is not prepared for 



them; he does not know how to meet them; all his 
knowledge forsakes him; and within fifteen minutes he is 
as white as a sheet and scared almost to death. There- 
fore pilots wisely train these cubs by various strategic 
tricks to look danger in the face a little more calmly. 
A favorite way of theirs is to play a friendly swindle upon 
the candidate. 

Mr. Bixby served me in this fashion once, and for 
years aftervvard I used to blush, even in my sleep, when I 
thought of it. I had become a good steersman; so good, 
indeed, that I had all the work to do on our watch, night 
and day. Mr. Bixby seldom made a suggestion tome; 
all he ever did was to take the wheel on particularly bad 
nights or in particularly bad crossings, land the boat 
when she needed to be landed, play gentleman of leisure, 
nine-tenths of the watch, and collect the wages. The 
lower river was about bank-full, and if any body had 
questioned my ability to run any crossing between Cairo 
and New Orleans without help or instruction, I should 
have felt irreparably hurt. The idea of being afraid of 
any crossing in the lot, in the daytime^ was a thing too 
preposterous for contemplation. Well, one matchless 
summer's da}' I was bowling down the bend above Island 
66, brimful of self-conceit and carrying my nose as high 
as a giraffe's, when Mr. Bixby said : 

"I am going below a while. I suppose you know the 
next crossing ?" 

This was almost an affront. It was about the plainest 
and simplest crossing in the whole river. One couldn't 
come to any harm, whether he ran it right or not; and 
as for depth, there never had been any bottom there. I 
knew all this, perfectly well. 

" Know how to run it? Why, I can run it with my eyes 
shut." 

'^ How much water is there in it ? " 



''Well, that is an odd question. I couldn't get bottom 
there with a church steeple," 

"You think so, do you ? " 

The very tone of the question shook my confidence. 
That was what Mr. Bixby was expecting. He left, with- 
out saying any thing more. I began to imagine all sorts 
of things. Mr. Bixby, unknown to me, of course, sent 
somebody down to the forecastle with some mysterious 
instructions to the leadsmen, another messenger was sent 
to whisper among the officers, and then Mr. Bixby went 
into hiding behind a smoke-stack where he could observe 
results. Presently the captain stepped out on the hurri- 
cane deck; next the chief mate appeared; then a clerk. 
Every moment or two a straggler was added to my audi- 
ence; and before I got to the head of the island I had 
fifteen or twenty people assembled down there under my 
nose. I began to wonder what the trouble was. As I 
started across, the captain glanced aloft at me and said, 
with a sham uneasiness in his voice: 

''Where is Mr. Bixby?" 

" Gone below, sir." 

But that did the business for me. My imagination 
began to construct dangers out of nothing, and they mul- 
tiplied faster than I could keep the run of them. All at 
once I imagined I saw shoal water ahead ! The wave of 
coward agony that surged through me then came near 
dislocating every joint in me. All my confidence in that 
crossing vanished. I seized the bell-rope^ dropped it, 
ashamed; seized it again; dropped it once more; clutched 
it tremblingly once again, and pulled it so feebly that I 
could hardly hear the stroke myself. Captain and mate 
sang out instantly, and both together : 

" Starboard lead there ! and quick about it ! " 

This was another shock. I began to climb the wheel 
like a squirrel; but I would hardly get the boat started to 



I03 



port before I would see new dangers on that side, and away 
I would spin to the other; only to find perils accumulating 
to starboard, and be crazy to get to port again. Then 
came the leadsman's sepulchral cry : 

^' D-e-e-p four ! " 

Deep four in a bottomless crossing ! The terror of it 
took my breath away. 

" M-a-r-k three ! M-a-r-k three ! Quarter-iess-three! 
Half twain ! " 

This was frightful ! I seized the bell-ropes and stopped 
the engines. 

" Quarter twain ! Quarter twain ! Afark twain ! " 

I was helpless. I did not know what in the world to 
do. I was quaking from head to foot, and I could have 
hung my hat on my eyes, they stuck out so far. 

" Quarter-/<?^^-twain ! Nine-and-a-Z/c?//"/ " 

We were drawing nine ! My hands were in a nerveless 
flutter. I could not ring a bell intelligibly with them. I 
flew to the speaking-tube and shouted to the engineer : 

''Oh, Ben, if you love me, back her! Quick, Ben ! 
Oh, back the immortal soul out of her ! " 

I heard the door close gently. I looked around, 
and there stood Mr. Bixby, smiling a bland, sweet smile. 
Then the audience on the hurricane deck sent up a thun- 
dergust of humiliating laughter. I saw it all, now, and I 
felt meaner than the meanest man in hum.an history. I 
laid in the lead, set the boat in her marks, came ahead 
on the engines, and said : 

"It was a fine trick to play on an orphan, wasn't \X.t 
I suppose I'll never hear the last of how I was ass enough 
to heave the lead at the head of 66." 

^' Well, no, you won't, maybe. In fact I hope you 
won't; for I want you to learn something by that expe- 
rience. Didn't you know there vv^as no bottom in that 
crossinof ? " 



I04 



^' Yes, sir, I did." 

"Very well, then. You shouldn't have allowed me or 
any body else to shake your confidence in that knowledge. 
Try to remember that. And another thing: when you 
get into a dangerous place, don't turn coward. That 
isn't going to help matters any." 

It was a good enough lesson, but pretty hardly learned. 
Yet about the hardest part of it was that for months I so 
often had to hear a phrase which I had conceived a par- 
ticular distaste for. It was, "Oh, Ben, if you love me^ 
back her ! " 



J 



CHAPTER XIV 
RANK AND DIGNITY OF PILOTING 

In my preceding chapters I have tried, by going into 
the minutiae of the science of piloting, to carry the reader 
step by step to a comprehension of what the science con- 
sists of; and at the same time I have tried to show him 
that it is a very curious and wonderful science, too, and 
very worthy of his attention. If I have seemed to love 
my subject, it is no surprising thing, for I loved the pro- 
fession far better than any I have followed since, and I 
took a measureless pride in it. The reason is plain : a 
pilot, in those days, was the only unfettered and entirely in- 
dependent human being that lived in the earth. Kings are 
but the hampered servants of parliament and the people; 
parliaments sit in chains forged by their constituency; 
the editor of a newspaper cannot be independent, but 
must work with one hand tied behind him by party and 
patrons, and be content to utter only half or two-thirds 
of his mind; no clergyman is a free man and may speak 
the whole truth, regardless of his parish's opinions; 
writers of all kinds are manacled servants of the public. 
We write frankly and fearlessly, but then we " modify " 
before we print. In truth, every man and woman and 
child has a master, and worries and frets in servitude; 
but, in the day I write of, the Mississippi pilot had none. 
The captain could stand upon the hurricane deck, in the 
pomp of a very brief authority, and give him five or six 
orders while the vessel backed into the stream, and then 
that skipper's reign was over. The moment that the 
boat was under way in the river, she was under the sole 



io6 



and unquestioned control of the pilot. He could do with 
her exactly as he pleased, run her when and whither he 
chose, and tie her up to the bank whenever his judgment 
said that that course was best. His movements were 
entirely free; he consulted no one, he received commands 
from nobody, he promptly resented even the merest sug- 
gestions. Indeed, the law of the United States forbade 
him to listen to commands or suggestions, rightly con- 
sidering that the pilot necessarily knew better how to 
handle the boat than any body could tell him. So here 
was the novelty of a king without a keeper, an absolute 
monarch who was absolute in sober truth and not by a 
fiction of words. I have seen a boy of eighteen taking a 
great steamer serenely into what seemed almost certain 
destruction, and the aged captain standing mutely by, 
filled with apprehension but powerless to interfere. His 
interference, in that particular instance, might have been 
an excellent thing, but to permit it would have been to 
establish a most pernicious precedent. It will easily be 
guessed, considering the pilot's boundless authority, that 
he was a great personage in the old steamboating days. 
He was treated with marked courtesy by the captain and 
with marked deference by all the officers and servants; 
and this deferential spirit was quickly communicated to 
the passengers, too. I think pilots were about the only 
people I ever knew who failed to show, in some degree, 
embarrassment in the presence of travelling foreign 
princes. But then, people in one's own grade of life 
are not usually embarrassing objects. 

By long habit, pilots came to put all their wishes in 
the form of commands. It "gravels" me, to this day, 
to put my will in the weak shape of a request, instead 
of launching it in the crisp language of an order. 

In those old days, to load a steamboat at St. Louis, 
take her to New Orleans and back, and discharge cargo, 



107 



consumed about twenty-five days, on an average. Seven 
or eight of these days the boat spent at the wharves of 
St. Louis and New Orleans, and every soul on board was 
hard at work, except the two pilots; they did nothing but 
play gentleman up town, and receive the same wages for 
it as if they had been on duty. The moment the boat 
touched the wharf at either city they were ashore; and 
they were not likely to be seen again till the last bell 
was ringing and every thing in readiness for another 
voyage. 

When a captain got hold of a pilot of particularly high 
reputation, he took pains to keep him. When wages 
were four hundred dollars a month on the Upper Mis- 
\ sissippi, I have known a captain to keep such a pilot in 
' idleness, under full pay, three months at a time, while 
the river was frozen up. And one must remember that 
in those cheap times four hundred dollars was a salary of 
almost inconceivable splendor. Few men on shore got 
such pay as that, and when they did they were mightily 
looked up to. When pilots from either end of the river 
wandered into our small Missouri village, they were 
sought by the best and the fairest, and treated with 
exalted respect. Lying in port under wages was a thing 
which many pilots greatly enjoyed and appreciated; espe- 
cially if they belonged in the Missouri River in the hey- 
day of that trade (Kansas times), and got nine hundred 
dollars a trip, which was equivalent to about eighteen 
hundred dollars a month. Here is a conversation of that 
day. A chap out of the Illinois River, with a little stern- 
wheel tub, accosts a couple of ornate and gilded Missouri 
River pilots : 

'' Gentlemen, I've got a pretty good trip for the up- 
country, and shall want you about a month. How much 
will it be ? " 

" Eighteen hundred dollars apiece." 



io8 



^'Heavens and earth ! You take my boat, let me have 
your wages, and I'll divide ! " 

I will remark, in passing, that Mississippi steamboat- 
men were important in landsmen's eyes (and in their own, 
too, in a degree) according to the dignity of the boat 
they were on. For instance, it was a proud thing to be 
of the crew of such stately craft as the Aleck Scott or the 
Grand Turk. Negro firemen, deck-hands, and barbers 
belonging to those boats were distinguished personages 
in their grade of life, and they were well aware of that 
fact, too. A stalwart darky once gave offence at a 
negro ball in New Orleans by putting on a good many 
airs. Finally one of the managers bustled up to him and 
said : 

" Who is you, any way ? Who is you ? dat's what / 
wants to know! " 

The offender was not disconcerted in the least, but 
swelled himself up and threw that into his voice which 
showed that he knew he was not putting on all those airs 
on a stinted capital. 

''Who is I ? Who is\l I let you know mighty quick 
who I is! I want you niggers to understan' dat I fires de 
middle do' * on de Aleck Scott ! " 

That was sufficient. 

The barber of the Grand Turk was a spruce young 
negro, who aired his importance with balmy complacency, 
and w^as greatly courted by the circle in which he moved. 
The young colored population of New Orleans were much 
given to flirting, at twilight, on the banquettes of the 
back streets. Somebody saw and heard something like 
the following, one evening, in one of those localities. A 
middle-aged negro woman projected her head through a 
broken pane and shouted (very willing that the neighbors 
should hear and envy), " You Mary Ann, come in de 
house dis minute ! Stannin' out dah foolin' 'long wid dat 

* Door. 



log 



low trash, an' heah's de barber off' n de Graii Turk wants 
to conwerse wid you!" 

My reference, a moment ago, to the fact that a pilot's 
peculiar official position placed him out of the reach of 
criticism or command, brings Stephen W. naturally to 
my mind. He was a gifted pilot, a good fellow, a tireless 
talker, and had both wit and humor in him. He had a 
most irreverent independence, too, and was deliciously 
easy-going and comfortable in the presence of age, 
official dignity, and even the most august wealth. He 
always had work, he never saved a penny, he was a most 
persuasive borrower, he was in debt to every pilot on 
the river, and to the majority of the captains. He could 
throw a sort of splendor around a bit of harum-scarum, 
devil-may-care piloting, that made it almost fascinating — 
but not to every-body. He made a trip with good old 
Captain Y. once, and was "relieved" from duty when 
the boat got to New Orleans. Somebody expressed sur- 
prise at the discharge. Captain Y. shuddered at the 
mere mention of Stephen. Then his poor, thin old voice 
piped out something like this : 

'' Why, bless me ! I wouldn't have such a wild creature 
on my boat for the world — not for the whole world! He 
swears, he sings, he whistles, he yells — I never saw such 
an Injun to yell. All times of the night — it never made 
any difference to him. He would just yell that way, not 
for any thing in particular, but merely on account of a 
kind of devilish comfort he got out of it. I never could 
get into a sound sleep but he would fetch me out of bed, 
all in a cold sweat, with one of those dreadful war- 
whoops. A queer being — very queer being ; no respect 
for any thing or any body. Sometimes he called me 
'Johnny.' And he kept a fiddle and a cat. He played 
execrably. This seemed to distress the cat, and so the 
cat w^ould howl. Nobody could sleep where that man — 



and his family — was. And reckless ? There never was 
any thing like it. Now you may believe it or not, but as 
sure as I am sitting here, he brought my boat a-tilting 
down through those awful snags at Chicot under a rattling 
head of steam, and the wind a-blowing like the very 
nation, at that ! My officers will tell you so. They saw 
it. And, sir, while he was a-tearing right down through 
those snags, and I a-shaking in my shoes and praying, I 
wish I may never speak again if he didn't pucker up his 
mouth and go to whistling ! Yes, sir; whistling ' Buffalo 
gals, can't you come out to-night, can't you come out 
to-night, can't you come out to-night;' and doing it as 
calmly as if we were attending a funeral and weren't 
related to the corpse. And when I remonstrated with 
him about it, he smiled down on me as if I was his child, 
and told me to run in the house and try to be good, and 
not be meddling with my superiors ! " * 

Once a pretty mean captain caught Stephen in New 
Orleans out of work and as usual out of money. He 
laid steady siege to Stephen, who was in a very '' close 
place," and finally persuaded him to hire with him at one 
hundred and twenty-five dollars per month, just half 
wages, the captain agreeing not to divulge the secret and 
so bring down the contempt of all the guild upon the 
poor fellow. But the boat was not more than a day out 
of New Orleans before Stephen discovered that the cap- 
tain was boasting of his exploit, and that all the officers 
had been told. Stephen winced, but said nothing. 
About the middle of the afternoon the captain stepped 
out on the hurricane deck, cast his eye around, and 
looked a good deal surprised. He glanced enquiringly 
aloft at Stephen, but Stephen was whistling placidly and 



* Considering a captain's ostentatious but hollow chieftainship, and a 
pilot's real authority, there was something impudently apt and happy 
about that way of phrasing it. 



J 



attending to business. The captain stood around a while 
in evident discomfort, and once or twice seemed about to 
make a suggestion ; but the etiquette of the river taught 
him to avoid that sort of rashness, and so he managed to 
hold his peace. He chafed and puzzled a few minutes 
longer, then retired to his apartments. But soon he was 
out again, and apparently more perplexed than ever. 
Presently he ventured to remark, with deference : 

'' Pretty good stage of the river now, ain't it, sir? " 

''Well, I should say so ! Bank- full is a. pretty liberal 
stage." 

" Seems to be a good deal of current here." 

" Good deal don't describe it! It's worse than a mill- 
race." 

" Isn't it easier in toward shore than it is out here in 
the middle?" 

"Yes, I reckon it is; but a body can't be too careful 
with a steamboat. It's pretty safe out here; can't strike 
any bottom here, you can depend on that." 

The captain departed, looking rueful enough. At this 
rate, he would probably die of old age before his boat got 
to St. Louis. Next day he appeared on deck and again 
found Stephen faithfully standing up the middle of the 
river, fighting the whole vast force of the Mississippi, and 
whistling the same placid tune. This thing was becom- 
ing serious. In by the shore was a slower boat clipping 
along in the easy water and gaining steadily; she began 
to make for an island chute; Stephen stuck to the middle 
of the river. Speech was wrung from the captain. He 
said: 

''Mr. W., don't that chute cut off a good deal of 
distance ? " 

"I think it does, but I don't know." 

"Don't know! Well, isn't there water enough in it 
now to go through ? " 



112 



'*I expect there is, but I am not certain." 

"Upon my word this is odd ! Why, those pilots on 
that boat yonder are going to try it. Do you mean to 
say that you don't know as much as they do ?" 

'■'They! Why, they are two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar 
pilots ! But don't you be uneasy ; I know as much as 
any man can afford to know for a hundred and twenty- 
five ! " 

The captain surrendered. 

Five minutes later Stephen was bowling through the 
chute and showing the rival boat a two-hundred-and- 
fifty-dollar pair of heels. 



CHAPTER XV \ 
THE pilots' monopoly 

One day, on board the Aleck Scott, my chief, Mr. Bixby, 
was crawling carefully through a close place at Cat Island, 
both leads going, and every-body holding his breath. The 
captain, a nervous, apprehensive man, kept still as long 
as he could, but finally broke down and shouted from the 
hurricane deck: 

<< For gracious' sake, give her steam, Mr. Bixby! give 
her steam ! She'll never raise the reef on this headway ! " 

For all the effect that was produced upon Mr. Bixby, 
one would have supposed that no remark had been made. 
But five minutes later, when the danger was past and the 
leads laid in, he burst instantly into a consuming fury, 
and gave the captain the most admirable cursing I ever 
listened to. No bloodshed ensued, but that was because 
the captain's cause was weak, for ordinarily he was not a 
man to take correction quietly. 

Having now set forth in detail the nature of the science 
of piloting, and likewise described the rank which the 
pilot held among the fraternity of steamboatmen, this 
seems a fitting place to say a few words about an organiza- 
tion which the pilots once formed for the protection of 
their guild. It was curious and noteworthy in this, that 
it was perhaps the compactest, the completest, and the 
strongest commercial organization ever formed among 
men. 

For a long time wages had been two hundred and 
fifty dollars a month; but curiously enough, as steam- 
boats multiplied and business increased, the wages 



14 



began to fall little by little. It was easy to discover the 
reason of this. Too many pilots were being ''made." 
It was nice to have a "cub," a steersman, to do all the 
hard work for a couple of years, gratis, while his master 
sat on a high bench and smoked; all pilots and captains 
had sons or nephews who wanted to be pilots. By and by 
it came to pass that nearly every pilot on the river had a 
steersman. When a steersman had made an amount of 
progress that was satisfactory to any two pilots in the 
trade, they could get a pilot's license for him by signing 
an application directed to the United States Inspector. 
Nothing further was needed; usually no questions were 
asked, no proofs of capacity required. 

Very well, this growing swarm of new pilots presently 
began to undermine the wages in order to get berths. 
Too late — apparently — the knights of the tiller perceived 
their mistake. Plainly, something had to be done, and 
quickly, but what was to be the needful thing ? A close 
organization. Nothing else would answer. To compass 
this seemed an impossibility; so it was talked and talked 
and then dropped. It was too likely to ruin whoever 
ventured to move in the matter. But at last about a 
dozen of the boldest — and some of them the best — pilots 
on the river launched themselves into the enterprise and 
took all the chances. They got a special charter from 
the legislature, with large powers, under the name of the 
Pilots' Benevolent Association ; elected their officers, 
completed their organization, contributed capital, put 
"association" wages up to two hundred and fifty dollars 
at once — and then retired to their homes, for they were 
promptly discharged from employment. But there were 
two or three unnoticed trifles in their by-laws which had 
the seeds of propagation in them. For instance, all idle 
members of the association, in good standing, were 
entitled to a pension of twenty-five dollars per month. 



115 



This began to bring in one straggler after another from 
the ranks of the new-fledged pilots, in the dull (summer) 
season. Better have twenty-five dollars than starve; the 
initiation fee was only twelve dollars, and no dues re- 
quired from the unemployed. 

Also, the widows of deceased members in good stand- 
ing could draw twenty-five dollars per month, and a 
certain sum for each of their children. Also, the said 
deceased would be buried at the association's expense. 
These things resurrected all the superannuated and for- 
gotten pilots in the Mississippi Valley. They came from 
farms, they came from interior villages, they came from 
everywhere. They came on crutches, on drays, in am- 
bulances, — any way, so they got there. They paid in 
their twelve dollars, and straightway began to draw out 
twenty-five dollars a month and calculate their burial bills. 

By and by all the useless, helpless pilots, and a dozen 
first-class ones, were in the association, and nine-tenths 
of the best pilots out of it and laughing at it. It was the 
laughing-stock of the whole river. Every-body joked 
about the by-law requiring members to pay ten per cent, 
of their wages, every month, into the treasury for the 
support of the association, whereas all the members were 
outcast and tabooed, and no one would employ them. 
Every-body was derisively grateful to the association for 
taking all the worthless pilots out of the way and leaving 
the whole field to the excellent and the deserving; and 
every-body was not only jocularly grateful for that, but 
for a result which naturally followed, namely, the gradual 
advance of wages as the busy season approached. Wages 
had gone up from the low figure of one hundred dollars a 
month to one hundred and twenty-five, and in some cases 
to one hundred and fifty; and it was great fun to enlarge 
upon the fact that this charming thing had been accom- 
plished by a body of men not one of whom received a 



ii6 



particle of benefit from it. Some of the jokers used to 
call at the association rooms and have a good time chaf- 
fing the members and offering them the charity of taking 
them as steersmen for a trip, so that they could see what 
the forgotten river looked like. However, the association 
was content ; or at least gave no sign to the contrary. Now 
and then it captured a pilot who was *' out of luck," and 
added him to its list; and these later additions were very 
valuable, for they were good pilots; the incompetent ones 
had all been absorbed before. As business freshened, 
wages climbed gradually up to two hundred and fifty 
dollars — the association figure — and became firmly fixed 
there; and still without benefiting a member of that 
body, for no member was hired. The hilarity at the as- 
sociation's expense burst all bounds, now. There was no 
end to the fun which that poor martyr had to put up with. 

However, it is a long lane that has no turning. Winter 
approached, business doubled and trebled, and an ava- 
lanche of Missouri, Illinois, and Upper Mississippi River 
boats came pouring down to take a chance in the New 
Orleans trade. All of a sudden pilots were in great 
demand, and were correspondingly scarce. The time for 
revenge was come. It was a bitter pill to have to accept 
association pilots at last, yet captains and owners agreed 
that there was no other way. But none of these outcasts 
offered ! So there was a still bitterer pill to be swal- 
lowed: they must be sought out and asked for their 

services. Captain was the first man who. found it 

necessary to take the dose, and he had been the loudest 
derider of the organization. He hunted up one of the 
best of the association pilots and said : 

"Well, you boys have rather got the best of us for a 
little while, so I'll give in with as good a grace as I can. 
I've come to hire you; get your trunk aboard right away. 
I want to leave at twelve o'clock." 



117 



*' I don't know about that. Who is your other pilot ?" 

"I've got I. S. Why?" 

'' I can't go with him. He don't belong to the asso- 
ciation." 

"What ?" 

"It's so." 

" Do you mean to tell me that you won't turn a wheel 
with one of the very best and oldest pilots on the river 
because he don't belong to your association ? " 

"Yes, I do." 

" Well, if this isn't putting on airs ! I supposed I was 
doing you a benevolence; but I begin to think that I am 
the party that wants a favor done. Are you acting under 
a law of the concern ? " 

"Yes." 

"Show it to me." 

So they stepped into the association rooms, and the 
secretary soon satisfied the captain, who said: 

"Well, what am I to do ? I have hired Mr. S. for the 
entire season." 

"I will provide for you," said the secretary. "I will 
detail a pilot to go with you, and he shall be on board at 
twelve o'clock." 

"But if I discharge S., he will come on me for the 
whole season's wages." 

"Of course that is a matter between you and Mr. S., 
captain. We cannot meddle in your private affairs." 

The captain stormed, but to no purpose. In the end 
he had to discharge S., pay him about a thousand dol- 
lars, and take an association pilot in his. place. The 
laugh was beginning to turn the other way, now. Every 
day, thenceforward, a new victim fell; every day some 
outraged captain discharged a non-association pet, with 
tears and profanity, and installed a hated association man 
in his berth. In a very little while idle non-association- 



ii8 



ists began to be pretty plenty, brisk as business was, and 
much as their services were desired. The laugh was 
shifting to the other side of their mouths most palpably. 
These victims, together with the captains and owners, 
presently ceased to laugh altogether, and began to rage 
about the revenge they would take when the passing 
business "spurt" was over. 

Soon all the laughers that were left were the owners 
and crews of boats that had two non-association pilots. 
But their triumph was not very long-lived. For this rea- 
son: It was a rigid rule of the association that its mem- 
bers should never, under any circumstances whatever, 
give information about the channel to any "outsider." 
By this time about half the boats had none but association 
pilots, and the other half had none but outsiders. At the 
first glance one would suppose that when it came to for- 
bidding information about the river these two parties 
could play equally at that game; but this was not so. 
At every good-sized town from one end of the river to 
the other, there was a " wharf-boat " to land at, instead 
of a wharf or a pier. Freight was stored in it for trans- 
portation; waiting passengers slept in its cabins. Upon 
each of these wharf-boats the association's officers placed 
a strong box, fastened with a peculiar lock which was 
used in no other service but one — the United States mail 
service. It was the letter-bag lock, a sacred governmental 
thing. By dint of much beseeching the Government had 
been persuaded to allow the association to use this lock. 
Every association man carried a key which would open 
these boxes. That key, or rather a peculiar way of hold- 
it in the hand when its owner was asked for river infor- 
mation by a stranger, — for the success of the St. Louis 
and New Orleans association had now bred tolerably 
thriving branches in a dozen neighboring steamboat 
trades, — was the association man's sign and diploma of 



119 



membership; and if the stranger did not respond by pro- 
ducing a similar key and holding it in a certain manner 
duly prescribed, his question was politely ignored. From 
the association's secretary each member received a pack- 
age of more or less gorgeous blanks, printed like a bill- 
head, on handsome paper, properly ruled in columns; a 
billhead worded something like this : 

STEAMER GREAT REPUBLIC. 

John Smith, Master. 

Pilots^ John Jones and Tho??ias Brown. 



Crossings. 


Soundings. 


Marks. 


Remarks. 



These blanks were filled up, day by day, as the voyage 
progressed, and deposited in the several wharf-boat boxes. 
For instance, as soon as the first crossing out from St. 
Louis was completed, the items would be entered upon 
the blank, under the appropriate headings, thus : 

''St. Louis. Nine and a half (feet). Stern on court- 
house, head on dead cottonwood above wood-yard, until 
you raise the first reef, then pull up square." Then under 
head of Remarks: "Go just outside the wrecks; this is 
important. New snag just where you straighten down; 
go above it." 

The pilot who deposited that blank in the Cairo box 
(after adding to it the details of every crossing all the way 
down from St. Louis) took out and read half a dozen fresh 
reports (from upward-bound steamers) concerning the 
river between Cairo and Memphis, posted himself thor- 
oughly, returned them to the box, and went back aboard 
his boat again so armed against accident that he could 
not possibly get his boat into trouble without bringing 
the most ino^enious carelessness to his aid. 



Imagine the benefits of so admirable a S5^stem in a 
piece of river twelve or thirteen hundred miles long, 
whose channel was shifting every day ! The pilot who 
had formerly been obliged to put up with seeing a shoal 
place once or possibly twice a month, had a hundred 
sharp eyes to watch it for him now, and bushels of intel- 
ligent brains to tell him how^ to run it. His information 
about it was seldom twenty-four hours old. If the 
reports in the last box chanced to leave any misgivings 
on his mind concerning a treacherous crossing, he had his 
remedy; he blew his steam whistle in a peculiar way as 
soon as he saw a boat approaching ; the signal was 
answered in a peculiar way if that boat's pilots were 
association men ; and then the two steamers ranged 
alongside and all uncertainties were swept away by fresh 
information furnished to the enquirer by word of mouth 
and in minute detail. 

The first thing a pilot did when he reached New 
Orleans or St. Louis was to take his final and elaborate 
report to the association parlors and hang it up there — 
after which he was free to visit his family. In these 
parlors a crowd was always gathered together, discussing 
changes in the channel, and the moment there was a fresh 
arrival every-body stopped talking till this witness had 
told the newest news and settled the latest uncertainty. 
Other craftsmen can '^sink the shop" sometimes, and 
interest themselves in other matters. Not so with a 
pilot; he must devote himself wholly to his profession 
and talk of nothing else; for it would be small gain to be 
perfect one day and imperfect the next. He has no time 
or words to waste if he would keep "posted." 

But the outsiders had a hard time of it. No particular 
place to meet and exchange information, no wharf-boat 
reports, none but chance and unsatisfactory ways of get- 
ting news. The consequence was that a man sometimes 



had to run five hundred miles of river on information that 
was a week or ten days old. At a fair stage of the river 
that might have answered, but when the dead low water 
came it was destructive. 

Now came another perfectly logical result. The out- 
siders began to ground steamboats, sink them, and get 
into all sorts of trouble, whereas accidents seemed to 
keep entirely away from the association men. Where- 
fore even the owners and captains of boats furnished 
exclusively with outsiders, and previously considered to 
be wholly independent of the association and free to com- 
fort themselves with brag and laughter, began to feel 
pretty uncomfortable. Still, they made a show of keeping 
up the brag, until one black day when every captain of 
the lot was formally ordered to immediately discharge 
his outsiders and take association pilots in their stead. 
And who was it that had the dashing presumption to do 
that ? Alas ! it came from a power behind the throne that 
was greater than the throne itself. It was the under- 
writers ! 

It was no time to '* swap knives." Every outsider had 
to take his trunk ashore at once. Of course it was sup- 
posed that there was collusion between the association 
and the underwriters, but this was not so. The latter 
had come to comprehend the excellence of the ''report" 
system of the association and the safety it secured, and 
so they had made their decision among themselves and 
upon plain business principles. 

There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth 
in the camp of the outsiders now. But no matter, there 
was but one course for them to pursue, and they pursued 
it. They came forward in couples and groups, and prof- 
fered their twelve dollars and asked for membership. 
They were surprised to learn that several new by-laws 
had been long ago added. For instance, the initiation 



fee had been raised to fifty dollars; that sum- must be 
tendered, and also ten per cent, of the wages which the 
applicant had received each and every month since the 
founding of the association. In many cases this amounted 
to three or four hundred dollars. Still, the association 
would not entertain the application until the money was 
present. Even then a single adverse vote killed the 
application. Every member had to vote yes or no in 
person and before witnesses; so it took weeks to decide 
a candidacy, because many pilots were so long absent on 
voyages. However, the repentant sinners scraped their 
savings together, and one by one, by our tedious voting 
process, they were added to the fold. A time came, at 
last, when only about ten remained outside. They said 
they would starve before they would apply. They 
remained idle a long while, because of course nobody 
could venture to employ them. 

7 and by the association published the fact that upon 
a certain date the wages would be raised to five hundred 
dollars per month. All the branch associations had 
grown strong now, and the Red River one had advanced 
wages to seven hundred dollars a month. Reluctantly 
the ten outsiders yielded, in view of these things, and 
made application. There was another new by-law, by this 
time, which required them to pay dues not only on all the 
wages they had received since the association was born, 
but also on what they would have received if they had 
continued at work up to the time of their application, 
instead of going off to pout in idleness. It turned out 
to be a difficult matter to elect them, but it was accom- 
plished at last. The most virulent sinner of this batch 
had stayed out and allowed ''dues" to accumulate 
against him so long that he had to send in six hundred 
and twenty-five dollars with his application. 

The association had a sfood bank account now and was 



123 



very strong. There was no longer an outsider. A by-law 
was added forbidding the reception of any more cubs or 
apprentices for five years ; after which time a limited 
number would be taken, not by individuals, but by the 
association, upon these terms : the applicant must not be 
less than eighteen years old, and of respectable family 
and good character; he must pass an examination as to 
education, pay a thousand dollars in advance for the 
privilege of becoming an apprentice, and must remain 
under the commands of the association until a great part 
of the membership (more than half, I think) should be 
willing to sign his application for a pilot's license. 

All previously articled apprentices were now taken 
away from their masters and adopted by the association. 
The president and secretary detailed them for service on 
one boat or another, as they chose, and changed them 
from boat to boat according to certain rules. If a pilot 
could show that he was in infirm health and needed assist-' 
ance, one of the cubs would be ordered to go with him. 

The widow and orphan list grew, but so did the asso- 
ciation's financial resources. The association attended 
its own funerals in state and paid for them. When occa- 
sion demanded, it sent members down the river upon 
searches for the bodies of brethren lost by steamboat 
accidents; a search of this kind sometimes cost a thousand 
dollars. 

The association procured a charter and went into the 
insurance business also. It not only insured the lives of 
its members, but took risks on steamboats. 

The organization seemed indestructible. It was the 
tightest monopoly in the world. By the United States 
law no man could become a pilot unless two duly licensed 
pilots signed his application, and now there was nobody 
outside of the association competent to sign. Conse- 
quently the making of pilots was at an end. Every year 



124 



some would die and others become incapacitated by age 
and infirmity ; there would be no new ones to take their 
places. In time the association could put wages up to 
any figure it chose ; and as long as it should be wise 
enough not to carry the thing too far and provoke the 
national government into amending the licensing sys- 
tem, steamboat owners would have to submit, since there 
would be no help for it. 

The owners and captains were the only obstruction 
that lay between the association and absolute power, and 
at last this one was removed. Incredible as it may seem, 
the owners and captains deliberately did it themselves. 
When the pilots' association announced, months before- 
hand, that on the first day of September, 1861, w^ages 
would be advanced to five hundred dollars per month, 
the owners and captains instantly put freights up a few 
cents, and explained to the farmers along the river the 
necessity of it, by calling their attention to the burden- 
some rate of wages about to be established. It was a 
rather slender argument, but the farmers did not seem to 
detect it. It looked reasonable to them that to add five 
cents freight on a bushel of corn was justifiable under the 
circumstances, overlooking the fact that this advance on 
a cargo of forty thousand sacks was a good deal more 
than necessary to cover the new wages. 

So, straightway the captains and owners got up an 
association of their own, and proposed to put captains' 
wages up to five hundred dollars, too, and move for 
another advance in freights. It was a novel idea, but of 
course an effect which had been produced once could be 
produced again. The new association decreed (for this 
was before all the outsiders had been taken into the 
pilots' association) that if any captain employed a non- 
association pilot, he should be forced to discharge him, 
and also pay a fine of five hundred dollars. Several of 



125 



these heavy fines were paid before the captains' organi- 
zation grew strong enough to exercise full authority over 
its' membership; but that all ceased, presently. The 
captains tried to get the pilots to decree that no member 
of their corporation should serve under a non-association 
captain; but this proposition was declined. The pilots 
saw that they would be backed up by the captains and 
the underwriters anyhow, and so they wisely refrained 
from entering into entangling alliances. 

As I have remarked, the pilots' association was now the 
compactest monopoly in the world, perhaps, and seemed 
simply indestructible. And yet the days of its glory were 
numbered. First, the new railroad, stretching up through 
Mississippi, Tennessee, and Kentucky, to Northern rail- 
way centres, began to divert the passenger travel from 
the steamboats; next the war came and almost entirely 
annihilated the steamboating industry during several 
years, leaving most of the pilots idle and the cost of liv- 
ing advancing all the time; then the treasurer of the St. 
Louis association put his hand into the till and walked off 
with every dollar of the ample fund; and finally, the rail- 
roads intruding everywhere, there was little for steamers 
to do, when the war w^as over, but carry freights; so 
straightway some genius from the Atlantic coast intro- 
duced the plan of towing a dozen steamer cargoes down 
to New Orleans at the tail of a vulgar little tug-boat; and 
behold, in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, the asso- 
ciation and the noble science of piloting were things of 
the dead and pathetic past ! 



CHAPTER XVI 

RACING DAYS 

It was always the custom for the boats to leave New 
Orleans between four and five o'clock in the afternoon. 
From three o'clock onward they would be burning rosin 
and pitch-pine (the sign of preparation), and so one had 
the picturesque spectacle of a rank, some two or three 
miles long, of tall, ascending columns of coal-black 
smoke; a colonnade which supported a sable roof of the 
same smoke blended together and spreading abroad over 
the city. Every outward-bound boat had its flag flying 
at the jack-staff, and sometimes a duplicate on the verge 
staff astern. Two or three miles of mates were com- 
manding and swearing with more than usual emphasis: 
countless processions of freight barrels and boxes were 
spinning athwart the levee and flying aboard the stage- 
planks; belated passengers were dodging and skipping 
among these frantic things, hoping to reach the forecastle 
companion-way alive, but having their doubts about it; 
women with reticules and bandboxes were trying to keep 
up with husbands freighted with carpet-sacks and crying 
babies, and making a failure of it by losing their heads in 
the whirl and roar and general distraction; drays and 
baggage-vans were clattering hither and thither in a wild 
hurry, every now and then getting blocked and jammed 
together, and then during ten seconds one could not see 
them for the profanity, except vaguely and dimly; every 
windlass connected with every fore-hatch, from one end 
of that long array of steamboats to the other, was keep- 
ing up a deafening whiz and whir, lowering freight into 



127 



the hold, and the half-naked crews of perspiring negroes 
that worked them were roaring such songs as " De Las' 
Sack ! De Las' Sack ! " — inspired to unimaginable exal- 
tation by the chaos of turmoil and racket that was driv- 
ing every-body else mad. By this time the hurricane 
and boiler decks of the steamers would be packed black 
with passengers. The 'Mast bells" would begin to 
clang, all down the line, and then the powwow seemed to 
double; in a moment or two the final warning came— a 
simultaneous din of Chinese gongs, with the cry, "All 
dat ain't goin', please to git asho' ! " — and behold the 
powwow quadrupled ! People came swarming ashore, 
overturning excited stragglers that were trying to swarm 
aboard. One more moment later a long array of stage- 
planks was being hauled in, each with its customary latest 
passenger clinging to the end of it with teeth, nails, and 
every thing else, and the customary latest procrastinator 
making a wild spring shoreward over his head. 

Now a number of the boats slide backward into the 
stream, leaving wide gaps in the serried rank of steamers. 
Citizens crowd the decks of boats that are not to go, in 
order to see the sight. Steamer after steamer straightens 
herself up, gathers all her strength, and presently comes 
swinging by, under a tremendous head of steam, with flag 
flying, black smoke rolling, and her entire crew of firemen 
and deck-hands (usually swarthy negroes) massed together 
on the forecastle, the best ''voice" in the lot towering from 
the midst (being mounted on the capstan), waving his hat 
or a flag, and all roaring a mighty chorus, while the part- 
ing cannons boom and the multitudinous spectators wave 
their hats and huzza ! Steamer after steamer falls into 
line, and the stately procession goes winging its flight up 
the river. 

In the old times, whenever two fast boats started out 
on a race, with a big crowd of people looking on, it was 



128 



inspiring to hear the crews sing, especially if the time 
were night-fall, and the forecastle lit up with the red 
glare of the torch-baskets. Racing was royal fun. The 
public always had an idea that racing w^as dangerous; 
whereas the opposite was the case — that is, after the 
laws were passed which restricted each boat to just so 
many pounds of steam to the square inch. No engineer 
was ever sleepy or careless when his heart was in a race. 
He was constantly on the alert, trying gauge-cocks and 
watching things. The dangerous place was on slow, 
plodding boats, where the engineers drowsed around and 
allowed chips to get into the '' doctor" and shut off the 
water supply from the boilers. 

In the ''flush times" of steamboating, a race between 
two notoriously fleet steamers w^as an event of vast im- 
portance. The date w^as set for it several weeks in ad- 
vance, and from that time forward the whole Mississippi 
Valley was in a state of consuming excitement. Politics 
and the weather were dropped, and people talked only 
of the coming race. As the time approached, the two 
steamers " stripped " and got ready. Every incumbrance 
that added weight, or exposed a resisting surface to wind 
or water, was removed, if the boat could possibly do with- 
out it. The "spars," and sometimes even their support- 
ing derricks, were sent ashore, and no means left to 
set the boat afloat in case she got aground. When the 
Eclipse and the A. L. Shotwell ran their great race many 
years ago, it was said that pains were taken to scrape the 
gilding off the fanciful device which hung between the 
Eclipse s chimneys, and that for that one trip the captain 
left off his kid gloves and had his head shaved. But I 
always doiibted these things. 

If the boat w^as known to make her best speed when 
drawing five and a half feet forward and five feet aft, she 
carefully loaded to that exact figure — she wouldn't enter 



129 



a dose of homoeopathic pills on her manifest after that. 
Hardly any passengers were taken, because they not only 
add weight but they never will "trim boat." They 
always run to the side when there is any thing to see, 
whereas a conscientious and experienced steamboatman 
would stick to the centre of the boat and part his hair in 
the middle with a spirit level. 

No way-freights and no way-passengers were allowed, 
for the racers would stop only at the largest towns, and 
then it would be only '* touch and go.'! Coal-flats and 
wood-flats were contracted for beforehand, and these were 
kept ready to hitch on to the flying steamers at a mo- 
ment's warning. Double crews were carried, so that all 
work could be quickly done. 

The chosen date being come, and all things in readi- 
ness, the two great steamers back into the stream, and 
lie there jockeying a moment, apparently watching each 
other's slightest movement, like sentient creatures; flags 
drooping, the pent steam shrieking through safety-valves, 
the black smoke rolling and tumbling from the chimneys 
and darkening all the air. People, people everywhere; 
the shores, the house-tops, the steamboats, the ships, are 
packed with them, and you know that the borders of the 
broad Mississippi are going to be fringed w^ith humanity 
'thence northward twelve hundred miles, to welcome these 
racers. 

Presently tall columns of steam burst from the 'scape- 
pipes of both steamers, two guns boom a good-by, two 
red-shirted heroes mounted on capstans wave their small 
flags above the massed crews on the forecastles, two 
plaintive solos linger on the air a few waiting seconds, two 
mighty choruses burst forth — and here they come! Brass 
bands bray '^ Hail Columbia," huzza after huzza thunders 
from the shores, and the stately creatures go whistling by 
like the wind. 



I30 



Those boats will never halt a moment between New 
Orleans and St. Louis, except for a second or two at 
large towns, or to hitch thirty-cord wood-boats alongside. 
You should be on board when they take a couple of those 
wood-boats in tow and turn a swarm of men into each; 
by the time you have wiped your glasses and put them 
on, you will be wondering what has become of that wood. 

Two nicely matched steamers will stay in sight of each 
other day after day. They might even stay side by side, 
but for the fact that pilots are not all alike, and the 
smartest pilots will win the race. If one of the boats 
has a '^ lightning" pilot, whose *' partner" is a trifle his 
inferior, you can tell which one is on watch by noting 
whether that boat has gained ground or lost some during 
each four-hour stretch. The shrewdest pilot can delay a 
boat if he has not a fine genius for steering. Steering is 
a very high art. One must not keep a rudder dragging 
across a boat's stern if he wants to get up the river fast. 

There is a great difference in boats, of course. For a 
long time I was on a boat that was so slow we used to 
forget what year it was we left port in. But of course 
this was at rare intervals. Ferry-boats used to lose 
valuable trips because their passengers grew old and died, 
waiting for us to get by. This was at still rarer intervals. 
I had the documents for these occurrences, but through 
carelessness they have been mislaid. This boat, the 
JoJui J. Roe, was so slow that when she finally sunk in 
Madrid Bend it was five years before the owners heard 
of it. That was always a confusing fact to me, but it is 
according to the record, any way. She was dismally slow; 
still, we often had pretty exciting times racing with 
islands, and rafts, and such things. One trip, however, 
we did rather well. We went to St. Louis in sixteen 
days. But even at this rattling gait I think we changed 
watches three times in Fort Adams reach, which is five 



131 



miles long. A ** reach" is a piece of straight river, and 
of course the current drives through such a place in a 
pretty lively way. 

That trip we went to Grand Gulf, from New Orleans, 
in four days (three hundred and forty miles); the Eclipse 
and Shotivell did it in one. We were nine days out, in 
the chute of 62^ (seven hundred miles); the Eclipse and 
Shotwell went there in two days. Something over a 
generation ago, a boat called the J. M. White went from 
New Orleans to Cairo in three days, six hours, and forty- 
four minutes. In 1853 the Eclipse made the same trip in 
three days, three hours, and twenty minutes.* In 1870 \ 
the E. E. Lee did it in three days and one hour. This J 
last is called the fastest trip on record. I will try to 
show that it was not. For this reason : the distance 
between New Orleans and Cairo, when the J. M. White 
ran it, was about eleven hundred and six miles; conse- 
quently her average speed was a trifle over fourteen miles 
per hour. In the Eclipse s day the distance between the 
two ports had become reduced to one thousand and 
eighty miles; consequently her average speed was a shade 
under fourteen and three-eighths miles per hour. In the 
R. E. Lee's time the distance had diminished to about 
one thousand and thirty miles; consequently her average 
was about fourteen and one-eighth miles per hour. 
Therefore the Eclipse s was conspicuously the fastest time 
that has ever been made. 

* Time disputed. Some authorities add i hour and 16 minutes to this. 



132 



THE RECORD OF SOME FAMOUS TRIPS. 

\_Fro>n Commodore Rollingpin's Ab/ianacJ] 
FAST TIME ON THE WESTERN WATERS. 







FROM NEW ORLEANS TO NATCHEZ— 268 MILES. 












Run 


made in 


Run 


made in 






D. 


H. M. 




H. M, 


I8I4. 


Orleans 


. 6 


6 40 


1844. Sultana_ 


19 45 


1814. 


Comet 




• 5 


10 


185 1. Magnolia 

1853. A. L. Shotwell . 




19 50 


I8IS. 


Enterprise 




• 4 


II 20 




19 49 


I8I7. 


Washington 




• 4 





1853. Southern Belle . 




20 3 


I8I7. 


Shelby 






20 


1S53. Princess (No. 4) 




20 26 


I8I9. 


Paragon 




• 3 


8 


1853. Eclipse 




19 47 


1828. 


Tecumseh 




• 3 


I 20 


1855. Princess (New) . 




18 53 


1834. 


Tuscarora 




. I 


21 


1855. Natchez (New) . 




17 30 


1838. 


Natchez 




. I 


17 


1856. Princess (New) . 




17 30 


1840. 


Ed. Shippen 


. I 


8 


1870. Natchez 




. 17 17 


1842, 


Belle of the West 


. I 


18 


1870. R. E. Lee . 




17 II 




FR 


DM new" ORLEANS TO CAIRO— IO24 MILES, 








Run made in 


Run 


made in 






D. 


H. M. 


E 


. H. M. 


1844. 


J. M. White . 


• 3 


6 44 


1869. Dexter . . . 3 6 20 


1852. 


Reindeer 


• 3 


12 25 


1870. Natchez . . . 3 4 34 


1853- 


Eclipse 


• 3 


4 4 


1S70. R. E. Lee . . . ; 


I 


1853. 


A. L. Shotwell 


• 3 


3 40 








FROM 


NEW ORLEANS TO 


LOUISVILLE— 1440 MILES, 








Run 


made in 


Run 


made in 






D. 


H. M. 


D 


H. M, 


I8I5. 


Enterprise . 


• 25 


2 40 


1840. Ed. Shippen . . 5 


14 


I8I7. 


Washington 


• 25 





1842. Belle of the West 


. 6 


14 


I8I7. 


Shelby 


. 20 


4 20 


1843. Duke of Orleans . 


. 5 


23 


1819. 


Paragon 


. 18 


10 


1844. Sultana 




• 5 


12 


1828. 


Tecumseh . 


. 8 


4 


1849. Bostona 




. 5 


8 


1834. 


Tuscarora . 


• 7 


16 -o 


1851. Belle Key , 




• 4 


23 


1837. 


Gen. Brown 


. 6 


22 


1852. Reindeer 




• 4 


20 45 


1837- 


Randolph . 


. 6 


22 


1852. Eclipse 




• 4 


19 


1837- 


Empress 


. 6 


17 


1853. A. L. Shotwell 




• 4 


10 20 


1837- 


Sultana 


. 6 


15 


1853. Eclipse 




• 4 


9 30 




FROM !■ 


mw ORLEANS TO D 


3NALDS0NV1LLE— 78 MILES. 








Run 


made in 

H. M. 


Rut] 


made in 

H. M. 


1852. 


A. L. Shotwell 




5 42 


i860. Atlantic _ , . , 


• 5 II 


1855- 


Eclipse 




5 42 


i860. Gen. Quitman 


• 5 6 


18^4. 


Sultana 




5 12 


1865. Ruth . , . , 


• 4 43 


1856. 


Princess 




4 51 


1870. R. E. Lee . 


• 4 59 




FRO 


\I NEW ORLEANS TO 


ST. LOUIS— 1218 MILES, 








Run 


made in 


Run made in 






D. 


H. M. 


D. 


H. M. 


1844. 


J. M. White . 


. 3 


23 9 


1870. Natchez , • • 3 


21 57 


1849. 


Missouri 


• 4 


19 


1S70. R. E. Lee . . ,3 


18 14 


1869. 


Dexter 


• 4 


9 








FR( 


JM LOUISV 


ILLE TO C 


■INCINNATI— 141 MILES. 








Run 


made in 


Run 


made in 






D. 


H. M. 




H. M. 


I8IQ. 


Gen. Pike . 


. I 


16 


1843. Congress 


12 20 


I8I9. 


Paragon 


. I 


14 20 


1846. Ben Franklin (No. 6) 


II 45 


1822. 


Wheeling Packet 


. I 


10 


1852. Alleghaney 


10 38 


1837. 


Moselle 




12 


1S52. Pittsburgh . 


10 23 


1843. 


Duke of Orle 


ans 




12 


1853. Telegraph (No. 3) 


. 




9 52 



133 





FROM LOUISVILLE TO 


ST. LOUIS— 750 MILES. 




Run made in 




1842. 

1854. 


D. H. M. 

Congress . . .2 10 
Pike . . . I 23 


1854. Northerner 

1855. Southerner 




FROM CINCINNATI TO 


PITTSBURG— 4go MILES 




Run made in 




1850. 

1851. 


D. H. 

Telegraph (No. 2) . .117 
Buckeye State . . . i 16 


1852. Pittsburgh . 




FROM ST. LOUIS TO ALTON— 30 MILES. 




Run made in 




i853- 
1876. 


H. M. 

Altona . . . • I 35 
Golden Eagle . . . i 37 


1876. War Eagle . 



lun 


made 


in 


D. 


H. 


M. 


I 


22 


30 


I 


19 





lun 


made in 



Run made in 

H. M. 

• I 37 



MISCELLANEOUS RUNS. 

In June, 1859, the St. Louis and Keokuk Packet, City of Louisiana, made the run 
from St. Louis to Keokuk (214 miles) in 16 hours and 20 minutes, the best time on 
record. 

In 1868 the steamer Havvkeye State-, of the Northern Line Packet Company, made 
the run from St. Louis to St. Paul (800 miles) in 2 days and 20 hours. Never vvras 
beaten. 

In 1853 '^he steamer Polar Star made the run from St. Louis to St. Joseph, on the 
Missouri River, in 64 hours. In July, 1856, the steamer Jas. H. Lucas, Andy Wine- 
land, Master, made the same run in 60 hours and 57 minutes. The distance between 
the ports is 600 miles, and when the difficulties of navigating the turbulent Missouri 
are taken into consideration, the performance of the Lucas deserves especial mention. 



THE RUN OF THE ROBERT E. LEE. 



The time made by the R. E. Lee from New Orleans to St. Louis in 1870, in her 
famous race with the Natchez, is the best on record, and, inasmuch as the race created 
a national interest, we give below her time-table from port to port. 



Left New Orleans, 


Thursday, June 30, 


1870, at 4 o'clock and 55 minutes 


, p. M.; 


D. H. 


M. 


D. 


H. M. 


Carrollton 


27^ 


Vicksburg . . . . i 


38 


Harry Hills 






I 


0% 


Milliken's Bend . . . i 


2 37 


Red Church 






I 


39 


Bailey's ..... i 


3 48 


Bonnet Carre 






2 


38 


Lake Providence . . .1 


5 47 


College Point 






3 


505^ 


Greenville . . . . i 


10 55 


Donaldsonville 






4 


59 


Napoleon . . . . i 


16 22 


Plaquemine 






7 


5% 


White River . . . . i 


16 56 


Baton Rouge 






8 


25 


Australia . . . . i 


19 


Bayou Sara 






10 


26 


Helena i 


23 25 


Red River 






12 


56 


Half Mile below St. Francis . 2 





Stamps 






13 


56 


Memphis .... 2 


6 9 


Bryaro 






15 


5iJ^ 


Foot of Island 37 . . .2 


9 


Hinderson's 






16 


29 


Foot of Island 26 . . .2 


13 30 


Natchez 






^7 


II 


Tow-head, Island 14 . .2 


17 23 


Cole's Creek 






19 


21 


New Madrid .... 2 


19 50 


Waterproof 






18 


53 


Dry Bar No. 10 ... 2 


20 37 


Rodney 






20 


45 


Foot of Island 8 . . .2 


21 25 


St. Joseph . 






21 


2 


Upper Tow-head— Lucas Bend 3 





Grand Gulf 






22 


6 


Cairo _ 3 


I 


Hard Times 






22 


18 


St. Louis .... 3 


18 14 


Half Mile below 


War 


rento 


n I 








_ The Lee landed at St. Louis at 11.25 A. m., on July 4, 1870 — six hours and thirty- 
six minutes ahead of the Natchez. Theofficers of the Natchez claimed seven hours and 
one minute stoppage on account of fog and repairing machinery. The R. E. Lee j 
was commanded by Captain John W. Cannon, and the Natchez was in charge of that J 
veteran Southern boatman. Captain Thomas P. Leathers. 



CHAPTER XVII 
CUT-OFFS AND STEPHEN 

These dry details are of importance in one particular. 
They give me an opportunity of introducing one of the 
Mississippi's oddest peculiarities — that of shortening its 
length from time to time. If you will throw a long, 
pliant apple-paring over your shoulder, it will pretty 
fairly shape itself into an average section of the Missis- 
sippi River ; that is, the nine or ten hundred miles 
stretching from Cairo, III, southward to New Orleans, 
the same being wonderfully crooked, wdth a brief straight 
bit here and there at wide intervals. The two-hundred- 
mile stretch from Cairo northward to St. Louis is by no 
means so crooked, that being a rocky country which the 
river cannot cut much. 

The water cuts the alluvial banks of the 'Mower" river 
into deep horseshoe curves; so deep, indeed, that in some 
places if you were to get ashore at one extremity of the 
horseshoe and walk across the neck, half or three-quarters 
of a mile, you could sit down and rest a couple of hours 
while your steamer was coming around the long elbow at 
a speed of ten miles an hour to take you on board again. 
When the river is rising fast, some scoundrel whose 
plantation is back in the country, and therefore of inferior 
value, has only to watch his chance, cut a little gutter 
across the narrow neck of land some dark night, and turn 
the water into it, and in a wonderfully short time a miracle 
has happened : to wit, the whole Mississippi has taken 
possession of that little ditch, and placed the country- 



I 



135 



man's plantation on its bank (quadrupling its value), and 
that other party's formerly valuable plantation finds itself 
away out yonder on a big island; the old watercourse 
around it will soon shoal up, boats cannot approach 
within ten miles of it, and down goes its value to a fourth 
of its former worth. Watches are kept on those narrow 
necks at needful times, and if a man happens to be caught 
cutting a ditch across them, the chances are all against 
his ever having another opportunity to cut a ditch. 

Pray observe some of the effects of this ditching 
business. Once there was a neck opposite Port Hud- 
son, La., which was only half a mile across in its nar- 
rowest place. You could walk across there in fifteen 
minutes; but if you made the journey around the cape on 
a raft, you travelled thirty-five miles to accomplish the 
same thing. In 1722 the river darted through that neck, 
deserted its old bed, and thus shortened itself thirty-five 
miles. In the same way it shortened itself twenty-five 
miles at Black Hawk Point in 1699. Below Red River 
Landing, Raccourci cut-off was made (forty or fifty years 
ago, I think). This shortened the river twenty-eight 
miles. In our day, if you travel by river from the 
southernmost of these three cut-offs to the northernmost, 
you go only seventy miles. To do the same thing a 
hundred and seventy-six years ago, one had to go a 
hundred and fifty-eight miles — a shortening of eighty- 
eight miles in that trifling distance. At some forgotten 
time in the past, cut-offs were made above Vidalia, 
La. ; at Island 92, at Island 84, and at Hale's Point. 
These shortened the river, in the aggregate, seventy- 
seven miles. 

Since my own day on the Mississippi, cut-offs have been 
made at Hurricane Island, at Island 100, at Napoleon, 
Ark. ; at Walnut Bend, and at Council Bend. These 
shortened the river, in the aggregate, sixty-seven miles. 



136 



In my own time a cut-off was made at American Bend, 
which shortened the river ten miles or more. 

Therefore the Mississippi between Cairo and New 
Orleans was twelve hundred and fifteen miles long one 
hundred and seventy-six years ago. It was eleven 
hundred and eighty after the cut-off of 1722. It was one 
thousand and forty after the i\merican Bend cut-off. It 
has lost sixty-seven miles since. Consequently, its length 
is only nine hundred and seventy-three miles at present. 

Now, if I wanted to be one of those ponderous scientific 
people, and "let on" to prove what had occurred in the 
remote past by what had occurred in a given time in the 
recent past, or what will occur in the far future by what 
has occurred in late years, what an opportunity is here ! 
Geology never had such a chance, nor such exact data 
to argue from ! Nor ''development of species," either! 
Glacial epochs are great things, but they are vague — 
vague. Please observe : 

I In the space of one hundred and seventy-six years the 
[Lower Mississippi has shortened itself two hundred and 
forty-two miles. That is an average of a trifle over one 
mile and a third per year. Therefore, any calm person, 
who is not blind or idiotic, can see that in the Old Oolitic 
Silurian Period, just a million years ago next November, 
the Lower Mississippi River was upward of one million 
three hundred thousand miles long, and stuck out over 
the Gulf of Mexico like a fishing-rod. And by the same 
token any person can see that seven hundred and forty- 
two years from now the Lower Mississippi will be only a 
mile and three-quarters long, and Cairo and New Orleans 
will have joined their streets together, and be plodding 
comfortably along under a single mayor and a mutual 
board of aldermen. There is something fascinating 
about science. One gets such wholesale returns of con- 
jecture out of such a trifling investment of fact. 



137 



When the water begins to flow through one of those 
ditches I have been speaking of, it is time for the people 
thereabouts to move. The water cleaves the banks away 
like a knife. By the time the ditch has become twelve 
or fifteen feet wide, the calamity is as good as accom- 
plished, for no power on earth can stop it now. When 
the width has reached a hundred yards, the banks begin 
to peel off in slices half an acre wide. The current 
flowing around the bend travelled formerly only five miles 
an hour; now it is tremendously increased by the shorten- 
ing of the distance. I was on board the first boat that 
tried to go through the cut-off at American Bend, but we 
did not get through. It was toward midnight, and a 
wild night it was — thunder, lightning, and torrents of 
rain. It was estimated that the current in the cut-off was 
making about fifteen or twenty miles an hour; twelve or 
thirteen was the best our boat could do, even in tolerably 
slack water, therefore perhaps we were foolish to try the 
cut-off. However, Mr. Brown was ambitious, and he 
kept on trying. The eddy running up the bank, under 
the ''point," was about as swift as the current out in the 
middle; so we would go flying up the shore like a light- 
ning express train, get on a big head of steam, and "stand 
by for a surge " when we struck the current that was 
whirling by the point. But all our preparations were 
useless. The instant the current hit us it spun us around 
like a top, the water deluged the forecastle, and the boat 
careened so far over that one could hardly keep his feet. 
The next instant we were away down the river, clawing 
with might and main to keep out of the woods. W^e tried 
the experiment four times. I stood on the forecastle 
companion-way to see. It was astonishing to observe 
how suddenly the boat would spin around and turn tail 
the moment she emerged from the eddy and the current 
struck her nose. The sounding concussion and the 



138 



quivering would have been about the same if she had 
come full speed against a sand-bank. Under the light- 
ning flashes one could see the plantation cabins and the 
goodly acres tumble into the river, and the crash they 
made was not a bad effort at thunder. Once, when we 
spun around, we only missed a house about twenty feet 
that had a light burning in the window, and in the same 
instant that house went overboard. Nobody could stay 
on our forecastle; the water swept across it in a torrent 
every time we plunged athwart the current. At the end 
of our fourth effort we brought up in the woods two miles 
below the cut-off; all the country there was overflowed, 
of course. A day or two later the cut-off was three 
quarters of a mile wide, and boats passed up through it 
without much difficulty, and so saved ten miles. 

The old Raccourci cut-off reduced the river's length 
twenty-eight miles. There used to be a tradition con- 
nected with it. It was said that a boat came along there 
in the night and went around the enormous elbow the 
usual way, the pilots not knowing that the cut-off had 
been made. It was a grisly, hideous night, and all shapes 
were vague and distorted. The old bend had already 
begun to fill up, and the boat got to running away from 
mysterious reefs, and occasionally hitting one. The per- 
plexed pilots fell to swearing, and finally uttered the 
entirely unnecessary wish that they might never get out 
of that place. As always happens in such cases, that 
particular prayer was answered, and the others neglected. 
So to this day that phantom steamer is still butting 
around in that deserted river, trying to find her way out. 
More than one grave watchman has sworn to me that on 
drizzly, dismal nights, he has glanced fearfully down that 
forgotten river as he passed the head of the island, and 
seen the faint glow of the spectre steamer's lights drifting 
through the distant gloom, and heard the muffled cough 



139 



of her 'scape-pipes and the plaintive cry of her leads- 
men. 

In the absence of further statistics, I beg to close this 
chapter with one more reminiscence of '' Stephen." 

Most of the captains and pilots held Stephen's note for 
borrowed sums, ranging from two hundred and fifty dol- 
lars upward. Stephen never paid one of these notes, but 
he was very prompt and very zealous about renewing 
them every twelve months. 

Of course there came a time, at last, when Stephen 
could no longer borrow of his ancient creditors; so he 
was obliged to lie in wait for new men who did not know 
him. Such a victim was good-hearted, simple-natured 
young Yates (I use a fictitious name, but the real name 
began, as this one does, with a Y). Young Yates grad- 
uated as a pilot, got a berth, and when the month was 
ended and he stepped up to the clerk's office and received 
his two hundred and fifty dollars in crisp new bills, 
Stephen was there ! His silvery tongue began to wag, 
and in a very little while Yates's two hundred and fifty 
dollars had changed hands. The fact was soon known at 
pilot headquarters, and the amusement and satisfaction 
of the old creditors were large and generous. But inno- 
cent Yates never suspected that Stephen's promise to 
pay promptly at the end of the week was a worthless one. 
Yates called for his money at the stipulated time; Stephen 
sweetened him up and put him off a week. He called 
then, according to agreement, and came away sugar- 
coated again, but suffering under another postponement. 
So the thing went on. Yates haunted Stephen week after 
week, to no purpose, and at last gave it up. And then 
straightway Stephen began to haunt Yates ! Wherever 
Yates appeared, there was the inevitable Stephen. And 
not only there, but beaming with affection and gushing 
with apologies for not being able to pay. By and by, when- 



I40 



ever poor Yates saw him coming, he would turn and fly, 
and drag his company with him, if he had company; but 
it was of no use; his debtor would run him down and 
corner him. Panting and red-faced, Stephen would come, 
with outstretched hands and eager eyes, invade the con- 
versation, shake both of Yates's arms loose in their 
sockets, and begin : 

'^ My, what a race I've had ! I saw you didn't see me, 
and so I clapped on all steam for fear I'd miss you en- 
tirely. And here you are ! there, just stand so, and let 
me look at you ! Just the same old noble countenance. 
[To Yates's friend :] Just look at him ! Look at him ! 
Ain't it ]m^X. good X.O look at him ! Aint it now ? Ain't he 
just a picture ! Some call him a picture; / call him a 
panorama ! That's what he is — an entire panorama. And 
now I'm reminded ! How I do wish I could have seen 
you an hour earlier ! For twenty-four hours I've been 
saving up that two hundred and fifty dollars for you; been 
looking for you everywhere. I waited at the Planter's 
from six yesterday evening till two o'clock this morning, 
without rest or food. My wife says, ' Where have you 
been all night? ' I said, ' This debt lies heavy on my mind. ' 
She says, ' In all my days I never saw a man take a debt 
to heart the way you do.' I said, ' It's my nature; how 
can / change it ? ' She says, * Well, do go to bed and get 
some rest.' I said, * Not till that poor, noble young man 
has got his money.' So I set up all night, and this morn- 
ing out I shot, and the first man I struck told me you had 
shipped on the Grand Turk and gone to New Orleans. 
Well, sir, I had to lean up against a building and cry. 
So help me goodness, I couldn't help it. The man that 
owned the place come out cleaning up with a rag, and 
said he didn't like to have people cry against his build- 
ing, and then it seemed to me that the whole world had 
turned against me, and it wasn't any use to live any 



141 



more; and coming along an hour ago, suffering no man 
knows what agony, I met Jim Wilson and paid him the 
two hundred and fifty dollars on account; and to think 
that here you are, now, and I haven't got a cent ! But 
as sure as I am standing here on this ground on this 
particular brick, — there, I've scratched a mark on the 
brick to remember it by, — I'll borrow that money and 
pay it over to you at twelve o'clock sharp, to-morrow! 
Now, stand so; let me look at you just once more." 

And so on. Yates's life became a burden to him. He 
could not escape his debtor and his debtor's awful suffer- 
ings on account of not being able to pay. He dreaded to 
show himself in the street, lest he should find Stephen 
lying in wait for him at the corner. 

Bogart's billiard saloon was a great resort for pilots in 
those days. They met there about as much to exchange 
river news as to play. One morning Yates was there; 
Stephen was there, too, but kept out of sight. But by 
and by, when about all the pilots had arrived who were 
in town, Stephen suddenly appeared in the midst, and 
rushed for Yates as for a long-lost brother. 

'' 6^//., I am so glad to see you ! Oh my soul, the sight 
of you is such a comfort to my eyes ! Gentlemen, I owe 
all of you money; among you I owe probably forty thou- 
sand dollars. I want to pay it; I intend to pay it — every 
last cent of it. You all know, without my telling you, 
what sorrow it has cost me to remain so long under such 
deep obligations to such patient and generous friends; 
but the sharpest pang I suffer — by far the sharpest— is 
from the debt I owe to this noble young man here; and I 
have come to this place this morning especially to make 
the announcement that I have at last found a method 
whereby I can payoff all my debts ! And most especially 
I wanted him to be here when I announced it. Yes, my 
faithful friend, my benefactor, I've found the method ! 



142 



I've found the method to pay off all my debts, and you'll 
get your money !" Hope dawned in Yates's eye; then 
Stephen, beaming benignantly, and placing his hand upon 
Yates's head, added, "I am going to pay them off in 
alphabetical order ! " 

Then he turned and disappeared. The full significance 
of Stephen's ''method " did not dawn upon the perplexed 
and musing crowd for some two minutes; and then Yates 
murmured with a sigh: ^ 

"Well, the Y's stand a gaudy chance. He won't get 
any further than the C's in this world, and I reckon that 
after a good deal of eternity has wasted away in the next 
one, I'll still be referred to up there as 'that poor, ragged 
pilot that came here from St. Louis in the early days ! ' " 



CHAPTER XVIII 
I TAKE A FEW EXTRA LESSONS 

During the two or two and a half years of my appren- 
ticeship I served under many pilots, and had experience 
of many kinds of steamboatmen and many varieties of 
steamboats; for it was not always convenient for Mr. 
Bixby to have me with him, and in such cases he sent 
me with somebody else. I am to this day profiting some- 
what by that experience; for in that brief, sharp schooling, 
I got personally and familiarly acquainted with about all 
the different types of human nature that are to be found 
in fiction, biography, or history. The fact is daily borne 
in upon me that the average shore-employment requires 
as much as forty years to equip a man with this sort of 
an education. When I say I am still profiting by this 
thing, I do not mean that it has constituted me a judge 
of men — no, it has not done that, for judges of men are 
born, not made. My profit is various in kind and degree, 
but the feature of it which I value most is the zest which 
that early experience has given to my later reading. 
When I find a well-drawn character in fiction or biography 
I generally take a warm personal interest in him, for the 
reason that I have known him before — met him on the 
river. 

The figure that comes before me oftenest, out of the 
shadows of that vanished time, is that of Brown, of the 
steamer Pennsylvania — the man referred to in a former 
chapter, whose memory was so good and tiresome. He 
was a middle-aged, long, slim, bony, smooth-shaven, 



144 



horse-faced, ignorant, stingy, malicious, snarling, fault- 
hunting, mote-magnifying tyrant. I early got the habit 
of coming on watch with dread at my heart. No matter 
how good a time I might have been having with the off- 
watch below, and no matter how high my spirits might 
be when I started aloft, my soul became lead in my body 
the moment I approached the pilot-house. 

I still remember the first time I ever entered the 
presence of that man. The boat had backed out from 
St. Louis and was '' straightening down." I ascended to 
the pilot-house in high feather, and very proud to be 
semi-officially a member of the executive family of so fast 
and famous a boat. Brown was at the wheel. I paused 
in the middle of the room, all fixed to make my bow, but 
Brown did not look around. I thought he took a furtive 
glance at me out of the corner of his eye, but as not even 
this notice was repeated, I judged I had been mistaken. 
By this time he was picking his way among some danger- 
ous ''breaks " abreast the wood-yards; therefore it would 
not be proper to interrupt him; .so I stepped softly to 
the high bench and took a seat. 

There was silence for ten minutes; then my new boss 
turned and inspected me deliberately and painstakingly 
from head to heel for about — as it seemed to me — a 
quarter of an hour. After which he removed his coun- 
tenance and I saw it no more for some seconds; then it 
came around once more, and this question greeted me : 

"Are you Horace Bigsby's cub?" 

''Yes, sir." 

After this there was a pause and another inspection. 
Then: 

" What's your name ? " 

I told him. He repeated it after me. It was probably 
the only thing he ever forgot; for although I was with 
him many months he never addressed himself to me in 



I 



i 



145 



any other way than "Here!" and then his command 
followed. 

" Where was you born ?" 

"In Florida, Missouri." 

A pause. Then : 

" Dern sight better stayed there ! " 

By means of a dozen or so of pretty direct questions, 
he pumped my family history out of me. 

The leads were going now in the first crossing. This 
interrupted the inquest. When the leads had been laid 
in he resumed : 

" How long you been on the river ? " 

I told him. After a pause : 

" Where'd you get them shoes ? " 

I gave him the information. 

"Hold up your foot ! " 

I did so. He stepped back, examined the shoe 
minutely and contemptuously, scratching his head 
thoughtfully, tilting his high sugar-loaf hat well forward 
to facilitate the operation, then ejaculated, "Well, I'll 
be dod derned ! " and returned to his wheel. 

What occasion there was to be dod derned about it is a 
thing which is still as much of a mystery to me now as it 
was then. It must have been all of fifteen minutes — 
fifteen minutes of dull, homesick silence — before that 
long horse-face swung round upon me again — and then 
what a change ! It was as red as fire, and every muscle 
in it was working. Now came this shriek : 

" Here ! You going to set there all day ? " 

I lit in the middle of the floor, shot there by the electric 
suddenness of the surprise. As soon as I could get my 
voice I said apologetically : "I have had no orders, sir." 

"You've had no orders I My, what a fine bird we are! 
We must have orders! Our father was a gentleman — 
owned slaves — and we've been to school. Yes, 7ve are a 
10 



146 



gentleman, too, and got to have orders! Orders, is it? 
ORDERS is what you want ! Dod dern my skin. Til 
learn you to swell yourself up and blow around here about 
your dod-derned orders I G'way from the wheel!" (I 
had approached it without knowing it.) 

I moved back a step or two and stood as in a dream, 
all my senses stupefied by this frantic assault. 

" What you standing there for? Take that ice-pitcher 
down to the texas-tender! Come, move along, and don't 
you be all day about it ! " 

The moment I got back to the pilot-house Brown said : 

"Here! What was you doing down there all this 
time?" 

''I couldn't find the texas-tender; I had to go all the 
way to the pantry." 

*' Derned likely story ! Fill up the stove." 

I proceeded to do so. He watched me like a cat. 
Presently he shouted : 

"Put down that shovel! Derndest numskull I ever 
saw — ain't even got sense enough to load up a stove." 

All through the watch this sort of thing went on. Yes, 
and the subsequent watches were much like it during a 
stretch of months. As I have said, I soon got the habit 
of coming on duty with dread. The moment I was in the 
presence, even in the darkest night, I could feel those 
yellow eyes upon me, and knew their ovvmer was watching 
for a pretext to spit out some venom on me. Prelimi- 
narily he would say : 

"Here ! Take the wheel." 

Two minutes later : 

" Where in the nation you going to ? Pull her down ! 
pull her down ! " 

After another moment : 

"Say ! You going to hold her all day ? Let her go — 
meet her ! meet her ! " 



I 



147 



Then he would jump from the bench, snatch the wheel 
from me, and meet her himself, pouring out wrath upon 
me all the time. 

George Ritchie was the other pilot's cub. He was 
having good times now ; for his boss, George Ealer, was 
as kind-hearted as Brown wasn't. Ritchie had steered 
for Brown the season before ; consequently, he knew 
exactly how to entertain himself and plague me, all by 
the one operation. Whenever I took the wheel for a 
moment on Ealer's watch, Ritchie would sit back on the 
bench and play Brown, with continual ejaculations of 
" Snatch her ! snatch her ! Derndest mud-cat I ever 
saw ! " '^ Here ! Where are you going now ? Going to 
run over that snag ? " " Pull her dota?i ! Don't you hear 
me? Pull her down!'' ''There she goes! Just 2.'^ I 
expected ! I told you not to cramp that reef. G'way 
from the wheel ! " 

So I always had a rough time of it, no matter whose 
watch it was ; and sometimes it seemed to me that 
Ritchie's good-natured badgering was pretty nearly as 
aggravating as Brown's dead-earnest nagging. 

I often wanted to kill Brown, but this would not 
answer. A cub had to take every thing his boss gave, in 
the way of vigorous comment and criticism ; and we all 
believed that there was a United States law making it a 
penitentiary offence to strike or threaten a pilot who was 
on duty. However, I could imagine myself killing Brown ; 
there was no law against that ; and that was the thing I 
used always to do the moment I was abed. Instead of 
going over my river in my mind, as was my duty, I threw 
business aside for pleasure, and killed Brown. I killed 
Brown every night for months ; not in old, stale, com- 
monplace ways, but in new and picturesque ones — ways 
that were sometimes surprising for freshness of design 
and .o^hastliness of situation and environment. 



148 



Brown was always watching for a pretext to find fault ; 
and if he could find no plausible pretext, he would invent 
one. He would scold you for shaving a shore, and for 
not shaving it ; for hugging a bar, and for not hugging 
it ; for ''pulling down" when not invited, and for 7wt 
pulling down when not invited ; for firing up without 
orders, and for waiting y<?r orders. In a word, it was his 
invariable rule to find fault with every thing you did ; and 
another invariable rule of his was to throw all his remarks 
(to you) into the form of an insult. 

One day we were approaching New Madrid, bound 
down and heavily laden. Brown was at one side of the 
wheel, steering ; I was at the other, standing by to " pull 
down " or '' shove up." He cast a furtive glance at me 
every now and then. I had long ago learned what that 
meant; viz., he was trying to invent a trap for me. I 
wondered what shape it was going to take. By and by 
he stepped back from the wheel and said in his usual 
snarly way : 

"Here ! See if you've got gumption enough to round 
her to." 

This was simply bound to be a success; nothing could 
prevent it ; for he had never allowed me to round the 
boat to before ; consequently, no matter how I might do 
the thing, he could find free fault with it. He stood back 
there with his greedy eye on me, and the result was what 
might have been foreseen : I lost my head in a quarter of 
a minute, and didn't know what I was about ; I started 
too early to bring the boat around, but detected a green 
gleam of joy in Brown's eye, and corrected my mistake. 
I started around once more while too high up, but cor- 
rected myself again in time. I made other false moves, 
and still managed to save myself; but at last I grew so 
confused and anxious that I tumbled into the very 
worst blunder of all — I got too far do7vn before begin- 



149 



ning to fetch the boat around. Brown's chance was 
come. 

His face turned red with passion ; he made one bound, 
hurled me across the house with a sweep of his arm, spun 
the wheel down, and began to pour out a stream of vitu- 
peration upon me which lasted till he was out of breath. 
In the course of this speech he called me all the different 
kinds of hard names he could think of, and once or twice 
I thought he was even going to swear — but he had never 
done that, and he didn't this time. ''Dod dern " was 
the nearest he ventured to the luxury of swearing, for 
he had been brought up with a wholesome respect for 
future fire and brimstone. 

That was an uncomfortable hour ; for there was a big 
audience on the hurricane deck. When I went to bed that 
night, I killed Brown in seventeen different ways — all of 
them new. 



CHAPTER XIX 

BROWN AND I EXCHANGE COMPLIMENTS 

Two trips later I got into serious trouble. Brown 
was steering; I was "pulling down." My younger 
brother appeared on the hurricane deck, and shouted to 
Brown to stop at some landing or other, a mile or so 
below. Brown gave no intimation that he had heard 
any thing. But that was his way: he never condescended 
to take notice of an under-clerk. The wind was blowing ; 
Brown was deaf (although he always pretended he wasn't), 
and I very much doubted if he had heard the order. If I 
had had two heads, I would have spoken ; but as I had 
only one, it seemed judicious to take care of it ; so I 
kept still. 

Presently, sure enough, we went sailing by that plan- 
tation. Captain Klinefelter appeared on the deck, and 
said : 

'^ Let her come around, sir, let her come around. 
Didn't Henry tell you to land here ? " 

''JVo, sir !" 

^' I sent him up to do it." 

"He did come up ; and that's all the good it done, the 
dod-derned fool. He never said any thing." 

" Didn't you hear him ? " asked the captain of me. 

Of course I didn't want to be mixed up in this business, 
but there was no way to avoid it ; so I said : 

"Yes, sir." 

I knew what Brown's next remark would be, before 
he uttered it. It was : 

" Shut your mouth! You never heard any thing of the 
kind." 



151 



I closed my mouth, according to instructions. An hour 
later Henry entered the pilot-house, unaware of what 
had been going on. He was a thoroughly inoffensive boy, 
and I was sorry to see him come, for I knew Brown would 
have no pity on him. Brown began, straightway : 

'' Here ! Why didn't you tell me we'd got to land at 
that plantation ?" 

''1 did tell you, Mr. Brown." 

*' It's a lie ! " 

I said : 

" You lie, yourself. He did tell you." 

Brown glared at me in unaffected surprise; and for as 
much as a moment he was entirely speechless ; then he 
shouted to me : 

*' I'll attend to your case in a half a minute ! " then to 
Henry, ''And you leave the pilot-house ; out with you ! " 

It was pilot law, and must be obeyed. The boy started 
out, and even had his foot on the upper step outside the 
door, when Brown, with a sudden access of fury, picked 
up a ten-pound lump of coal and sprang after him ; but I 
was between, with a heavy stool, and I hit Brown a good 
honest blow which stretched him out. 

I had committed the crime of crimes — I had lifted my 
hand against a pilot on duty ! I supposed I was booked 
for the penitentiary sure, and couldn't be booked any 
surer if I went on and squared my long account with this 
person while I had the chance ; consequently I stuck to 
him and pounded him with my fists a considerable time. 
I do not know how long, the pleasure of it probably made 
it seem longer than it really was ; but in the end he 
struggled free and jumped up and sprang to the wheel : 
a very natural solicitude, for, all this time, here was this 
steamboat tearing down the river at the rate of fifteen 
miles an hour and nobody at the helm ! However, Eagle 
Bend was two miles wide at this bank-full stage, and cor- 



15: 



responclingly long and deep : and the boat was steering 
herself straight down the middle and taking no chances. 
Still, that was only luck — a body might have found her 
charging into the woods. 

Perceiving at a glance that the Pennsylvania was in 
no danger, Brown gathered up the big spy-glass, war- 
club fashion, and ordered me out of the pilot-house with 
more than Comanche bluster. But I was not afraid of 
him now; so, instead of going, I tarried, and criticised his 
grammar. I reformed his ferocious speeches for him, and 
put them into good English, calling his attention to the 
advantage of pure English over the bastard dialect of the 
Pennsylvania collieries whence he was extracted. He 
could have done his part to admiration in a cross-fire of 
mere vituperation, of course; but he was not equipped 
for this species of controversy; so he presently laid aside 
Jiis glass and took the wheel, muttering and shaking his 
head ; and I retired to the bench. The racket had 
brought every-body to the hurricane deck, and I trem- 
bled when I saw the old captain looking up from amid 
the crowd. I said to myself, "Now I am done for!" 
for although, as a rule, he was so fatherly and indulgent 
toward the boat's family, and so patient of minor short- 
comings, he could be stern enough when the fault was 
worth it. 

I tried to imagine what he would do to a cub pilot who 
had been guilty of such a crime as mine, committed on a 
boat guard-deep with costly freight and alive with pas- 
sengers. Our watch was nearly ended. I thought I 
would go and hide somewhere till I got a chance to slide 
ashore. So I slipped out of the pilot-house, and down 
the steps, and around to the texas door, and was in the 
act of gliding within, when the captain confronted me! 
I dropped my head, and he stood over me in silence a 
moment or two, then said impressively : 



153 



'^ Follow me." 

I dropped into his wake; he led the way to his parlor 
in the forward end of the texas. We were alone, now. 
He closed the after door; then moved slowly to the for- 
ward one and closed that. He sat down; I stood before 
him. He looked at me some little time, then said : 

'' So you have been fighting Mr. Brown ? " 

I answered meekly 

*' Yes, sir." 

" Do you know that that is a very serious matter ? " 

''Yes, sir." 

''Are you aware that this boat was ploughing down 
the river fully five minutes with no one at the wheel ? " 

"Yes,* sir." 

" Did you strike him first ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

"What with ?" 

"A stool, sir." 

"Hard?" 

"Middling, sir." 

" Did it knock him down ? " 

"He— he fell, sir." 

" Did you follow it up? Did you do any thing further? " 

" Yes, sir." 

"What did you do?" 

"Pounded him, sir." 

" Pounded him ?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" Did you pound him much ? that is, severely ? " 

" One might call it that, sir, maybe." 

" I'm deuced glad of it! Hark ye, never mention that 
I said that. You have been guilty of a great crime; and 
don't you ever be guilty of it again, on this boat. But — 
lay for him, ashore ! Give him a good sound thrashing, 
do you hear? I'll pay the expenses. Now go — and mind 



154 



you, not a word of this to any body. Clear out with you ! 
You've been guilty of a great crime, you whelp ! " 

I slid out, happy with the sense of a close shave and a 
mighty deliverance; and I heard him laughing to himself 
and slapping his fat thighs after I had closed his door. 

When Brown came off watch he went straight to the 
captain, who was talking with some passengers on the 
boiler deck, and demanded that I be put ashore in New 
Orleans — and added : 

" I'll never turn a wheel on this boat again while that 
cub stays." 

The captain said : 

"But he needn't come round when you are on watch, 
Mr. Brown." 

''I won't even stay on the same boat with him. O^e of 
us has got to go ashore." 

"Very well," said the captain, "let it be yourself," 
and resumed his talk with the passengers. 

During the brief remainder of the trip I knew how an 
emancipated slave feels, for I was an emancipated slave 
myself. While we lay at landings I listened to George 
Ealer's flute, or to his readings from his two Bibles, that 
is to say, Goldsmith and Shakspere, or I played chess 
with him — and would have beaten him sometimes, only he 
always took back his last move and ran the game out 
differently. 



CHAPTER XX 

A CATASTROPHE 

We lay three days in New Orleans, but the captain did 
not succeed in finding another pilot, so he proposed that 
I should stand a daylight watch and leave the night 
watches to George Ealer. But I was afraid; I had never 
stood a watch of any sort by myself, and I believed I should 
be sure to get into trouble in the head of some chute, or 
ground the boat in a near cut through some bar or other. 
Brown remained in his place, but he would not travel 
with me. So the captain gave me an order on the captain 
of the A. T. Lacey for a passage to St. Louis, and said he 
would find a new pilot there and my steersman's berth 
could then be resumed. The Lacey was to leave a couple 
of days after the Peiinsylvania. 

The night before the Pennsylvania left, Henry and I sat 
chatting on a freight pile on the levee till midnight. The 
subject of the chat, mainly, was one which I think we had 
not exploited before — steamboat disasters. One was then 
on its way to us, little as we suspected it; the water which 
was to make the steam which should cause it was washing 
past some point fifteen hundred miles up the river while 
we talked — but it would arrive at the right time and the 
right place. We doubted if persons not clothed with 
authority were of much use in cases of disaster and 
attendant panic, still they might be of some use; so we 
decided that if a disaster ever fell within our experience 
we would at least stick to the boat, and give such minor 
service as chance might throw in the way. Henry 



156 



remembered this, afterward, when the disaster came, and 
acted accordingly. 

The Lacey started up the river two days behind the 
Pennsylvania. We touched at Greenville, Miss., a couple 
of days out, and somebody shouted : 

''The Feniisylvania is blown up at Ship Island, and a 
hundred and fifty lives lost ! " 

At Napoleon, Ark., the same evening, we got an 
extra, issued by a Memphis paper, which gave some 
particulars. It mentioned my brother, and said he was 
not hurt. 

Further up the river we got a later extra. My brother 
was again mentioned, but this time as being hurt beyond 
help. We did not get full details of the catastrophe until 
we reached Memphis. This is the sorrowful story : 

It was six o'clock on a hot summer morning. The 
Pennsylvania was creeping along, north of Ship Island, 
about sixty miles below Memphis, on a half-head of steam, 
towing a wood-flat which was fast being emptied. George 
Ealerjv-as in the pilot-house — alone, I think: the second 
engineer and a striker had the watch in the engme-room; 
the second mate had the watch on deck; George Black, 
Mr. Wood, and my brother, clerks, were asleep, as were 
also Brown and the head engineer, the carpenter, the 
chief mate, and one striker; Captain Klinefelter was in 
the barber's chair, and the barber was preparing to shave 
him. There were a good many cabin passengers aboard, 
and three or four hundred deck passengers — so it was 
said at the time — and not very many of them were astir. 
The wood being nearly all out of the flat now, Ealer rang 
to ''come ahead" full steam, and the next moment four 
of the eight boilers exploded with a thunderous crash, 
and the whole forward third of the boat was hoisted 
toward the sky ! The main part of the mass, with the 
chimneys, dropped upon the boat again, a mountain of 



157 



riddled and chaotic rubbish — and then, after a little, fire 
broke out. 

Many people were flung to considerable distances and 
fell in the river; among these were Mr. Wood and my 
brother and the carpenter. The carpenter was still 
stretched upon his mattress when he struck the water 
seventy-five feet from the boat. Brown, the pilot, and 
George Black, chief clerk, were never seen or heard of 
after the explosion. The barber's chair, with Captain 
Klinefelter in it and unhurt, was left with its back over- 
hanging vacancy — every thing forward of it, floor and all, 
had disappeared; and the stupefied barber, who was also 
unhurt, stood with one toe projecting over space, still 
stirring his lather unconsciously and saying not a word. 

When George Ealer saw the chimneys plunging aloft 
in front of him, he knew what the matter was; so he 
muffled his face in the lapels of his coat, and pressed both 
hands there tightly to keep this protection in its place so 
that no steam could get to his nose or mouth. He had 
ample time to attend to these details while he was going 
up and returning. He presently landed on top of the 
unexploded boilers, forty feet below the former pilot- 
house, accompanied by his wheel and a rain of other 
stuff, and enveloped in a cloud of scalding steam. All of 
the many who breathed that steam died; none escaped. 
But Ealer breathed none of it. He made his way to the 
free air as quickly as he could; and when the steam 
cleared away he returned and climbed up on the boilers 
again, and patiently hunted out each and every one of his 
chessmen and the several joints of his flute. 

By this time the fire was beginning to threaten. 
Shrieks and groans filled the air. A great many persons 
had been scalded, a great many crippled; the explosion 
had driven an iron crowbar through one man's body — I 
think they said he was a priest. He did not die at once, 



158 



and his sufferings were very dreadful. A young French 
naval cadet of fifteen, son of a French admiral, was fear- 
fully scalded, but bore his tortures manfully. Both 
mates were badly scalded, but they stood to their posts, 
nevertheless. They drew the wood-boat aft, and they 
and the captain fought back the frantic herd of frightened 
immigrants till the wounded could be brought there and 
placed in safety first. 

When Mr. Wood and Henry fell in the water they 
struck out for shore, which was only a few hundred yards 
away; but Henry presently said he believed he was not 
hurt (what an unaccountable error !) and therefore would 
swim back to the boat and help save the wounded. So 
they parted and Henry returned. 

By this time the fire was making fierce headway, and 
several persons who were imprisoned under the ruins 
were begging piteously for help. All eff.orts to conquer 
the fire proved fruitless, so the buckets were presently 
thrown aside and the officers fell to with axes and tried 
to cut the prisoners out. A striker was one of the cap- 
tives; he said he was not injured, but could not free 
himself, and when he saw that the fire was likely to drive 
away the workers he begged that some one would shoot 
him, and thus save him from the more dreadful death. 
The fire did drive the axemen away, and they had to 
listen, helpless, to this poor fellow's supplications till the 
flames ended his miseries. 

The fire drove all into the wood-flat that could be 
accommodated there; it was cut adrift then, and it and 
the burning steamer floated down the river toward Ship 
Island. They moored the flat at the head of the island, 
and there, unsheltered from the blazing sun, the half- 
naked occupants had to remain, without food or stimu- 
lants, or help for their hurts, during the rest of the day. 
A steamer came along, finally, and carried the unfor- 



I-^Q 



tunates to Memphis, and there the most lavish assistance 
was at once forthcoming. By this time Henry was insen- 
sible. The physicians examined his injuries and saw that 
they were fatal, and naturally turned their main attention 
to patients who could be saved. 

Forty of the wounded were placed upon pallets on the 
floor of a great public hall, and among these was Henry. 
There the ladies of Memphis came every day, with flow- 
ers, fruits, and dainties and delicacies of all kinds, and 
there they remained and nursed the wounded. All the 
physicians stood watches there, and all the medical stu- 
dents; and the rest of the town furnished money, or 
whatever else was wanted. And Memphis knew how to 
do all these things well; for many a disaster like the 
Fenfisylvanias had happened near her doors, and she 
was experienced, above all other cities on the river, in the 
gracious office of the Good Samaritan. 

The sight I saw when I entered that large hall was new 
and strange to me. Two long rows of prostrate forms — 
more than forty in all — and every face and head a shape- 
less wad of loose raw cotton. It was a grewsome spec- 
tacle. I watched there six days and nights, and a very 
melancholy experience it was. There was one daily inci- 
dent which was peculiarly depressing: this was the re- 
moval of the doomed to a chamber apart. It was done 
in order that the morale of the other patients might not 
be injuriously affected by seeing one of their number in 
the death-agony. The fated one was always carried out 
with as little stir as possible, and the stretcher was always 
hidden from sight by a wall of assistants; but no matter: 
every-body knew what that cluster of bent forms, with its 
muffled step and its slow movement, meant; and all eyes 
watched it wistfully, and a shudder went abreast of it like 
a wave. 

I saw many poor fellows removed to the '* death-room," 



i6o 



and saw them no more afterward. But I saw our chief 
mate carried thither more than once. His hurts were 
frightful, especially his scalds. He was clothed in linseed 
oil and raw cotton to his waist, and resembled nothing 
human. He was often out of his mind ; and then his 
pains would make him rave and shout and sometimes 
shriek. Then, after a period of dumb exhaustion, his 
disordered imagination would suddenly transform the 
great apartment into a forecastle, and the hurrying throng 
of nurses into the crew; and he would come to a sitting 
posture and shout, ''Hump yourselves, himip yourselves, 
you petrifactions, snail-bellies, pall-bearers ! going to be 
all day getting that hatful of freight out ? " and supple- 
ment this explosion with a firmament-obliterating irrup- 
tion of profanity which nothing could stay or stop till his 
crater was empty. And now and then while these fren- 
zies possessed him, he would tear off handfuls of the 
cotton and expose his cooked flesh to view. It was hor- 
rible. It was bad for the others, of course — this noise 
and these exhibitions; so the doctors tried to give him 
morphine to quiet him. But, in his mind or out of it, he 
would not take it. He said his wife had been killed by 
that treacherous drug, and he would die before he would 
take it. He suspected that the doctors were concealing 
it in his ordinary medicines and in his water — so he ceased 
from putting either to his lips. Once, when he had been 
without water during two sweltering days, he took the 
dipper in his hand, and the sight of the limpid fluid, and 
the misery of his thirst, tempted him almost beyond his 
strength; but he mastered himself and threw it away, and 
after that he allowed no more to be brought near him. 
Three times I saw him carried to the death-room, insen- 
sible and supposed to be dying; but each time he revived, 
cursed his attendants, and demanded to be taken back. 
He lived to be mate of a steamDoat again. 



[6i 



But he was the only one who went to the death-room 
and returned alive. Dr. Peyton, a principal physician, 
and rich in all the attributes that go to constitute high 
and flawless character, did all that educated judgment 
and trained skill could do for Henry; but, as the news- 
papers had said in the beginning, his hurts were past 
help. On the evening of the sixth day his wandering 
mind busied itself with matters far away, and his nerve- 
less fingers "picked at his coverlet." His hour had 
struck; we bore him to the death-room, poor boy. 



CHAPTER XXI 

A SECTION IN MY BIOGRAPHY 

In due course I got my license. I was a pilot now 
full fledged. I dropped into casual employments; no mis- 
fortunes resulting, intermittent work gave place to steady 
and protracted engagements. Time drifted smoothly and 
prosperously on, and I supposed — and hoped — that I was 
going to follow the river the rest of my days, and die at 
the wheel when my mission was ended. But by and by 
the war came, commerce was suspended, my occupation 
was gone. 

I had to seek another livelihood. So I became a silver 
miner in Nevada; next, a newspaper reporter; next, a 
gold miner in California; next, a reporter in San Fran- 
cisco ; next, a special correspondent in the Sandwich 
Islands; next, a roving correspondent in Europe and the 
East; next, an instructional torch-bearer on the lecture 
platform; and, finally, I became a scribbler of books, and 
an immovable fixture among the other rocks of New 
England. 

In so few words have I disposed of the twenty-one 
slow-drifting years that have come and gone since I last 
looked from the windows of a pilot-house. 

Let us resume, now. 



CHAPTER XXII 
I RETURN TO MY MUTTONS 

After twenty-one years' absence I felt a very strong 
desire to see the river again, and the steamboats, and 
-such of the boys as might be left; so I resolved to go out 
there. I enlisted a poet for company, and a stenographer 
to ''take him down," and started westward about the 
middle of April. 

As I proposed to make notes, with a view to printing, I 
took some thought as to methods of procedure. I re- 
flected that if I were recognized, on the river, I should 
not be as free to go and come, talk, enquire, and spy 
around, as I should be if unknown; I remembered that it 
was the custom of steamboatmen in the old times to load 
up the confiding stranger with the most picturesque and 
admirable lies, and put the sophisticated friend off with 
dull and ineffectual facts: so I concluded that, from a 
business point of view, it would be an advantage to dis- 
guise our party with fictitious names. The idea was cer- 
tainly good, but it bred infinite bother ; for although 
Smith, Jones, and Johnson are easy names to remember 
when there is no occasion to remember them, it is next 
to impossible to recollect them when they are wanted. 
How do criminals manage to keep a brand-new alias in 
mind ? This is a great mystery. I was innocent; and 
yet was seldom able to lay my hand on my new name 
when it was needed; and it seemed to me that if I had 
had a crime on my conscience to further confuse me, I 
could never have kept the name by me at all. 

We left per Pennsylvania Railroaa, at 8 a. m. April i8. 



i64 



Evening, — Speaking of dress. Grace and picturesqueness drop 
gradually out of it as one travels away from New York. 

I find that among my notes. It makes no difference 
which direction you take, the fact remains the same. 
Whether you move north, south, east, or west, no matter: 
you can get up in the morning and guess how far you 
have come, by noting what degree of grace and pictur- 
esqueness is by that time lacking in the costumes of the 
new passengers — I do not mean of the women alone, but 
of both sexes. It may be that carriage is at the bottom 
of this thing; and I think it is ; for there are plenty of 
ladies and gentlemen in the provincial cities whose gar- 
ments are all made by the best tailors and dressmakers of 
New York; yet this has no perceptible effect upon the 
grand fact: the educated eye never mistakes those people 
for New Yorkers. No, there is a godless grace and snap 
and style about a born and bred New Yorker which mere 
clothing cannot effect. 

April ig. — This morning struck into the region of full goatees 
— sometimes accompanied by a mustache, but only occasionally. 

It was odd to come upon this thick crop of an obsolete 
and uncomely fashion ; it was like running suddenly across 
a forgotten acquaintance whom you had supposed dead 
for a generation. The goatee extends over a wide extent 
of country, and is accompanied by an iron-clad belief in 
Adam, and the biblical history of creation, which has not 
suffered from the assaults of the scientists. 

Afterjioon. — At the railway stations the loafers carry both hands 
in their breeches pockets ; it was observable, heretofore, that one 
hand was sometimes out of doors — here, never. This is an impor- 
tant fact in geography. 

If the loafers determined the character of a country, it 
would be still more important, of course. 



I 



i65 



Heretofore, all along, the station-loafer has been often observed 
to scratch one shin with the other foot ; here, these remains of 
activity are wanting. This has an ominous look. 

By and by we entered the tobacco-chewing region. 
Fifty years ago the tobacco-chewing region covered the 
Union. It is greatly restricted now. 

Next, boots began to appear. Not in strong force, 
however. Later — away down the Mississippi — they 
becaine the rule. They disappeared from other sections 
of the Union with the mud ; no doubt they will disappear 
from the river villages, also, when proper pavements 
come in. 

We reached St. Louis at ten o'clock at night. At the 
counter of the hotel I tendered a hurriedly invented fic- 
titious name, with a miserable attempt at careless ease. 
The clerk paused, and inspected me in the compassionate 
way in which one inspects a respectable person who is 
found in doubtful circumstances ; then he said : 

''It's all right ; I know what sort of a room you want. 
Used to clerk at the St. James, in New York." 

An unpromising beginning for a fraudulent career ! 
We started to the supper room, and met two other men 
whom I had known elsewhere. How odd and unfair it 
is : wicked impostors go around lecturing under my nom 
de guerre, and nobody suspects them ; but when an honest 
man attempts an imposture, he is exposed at once. 

One thing seemed plain : we must start down the river 
the next day, if people who could not be deceived were 
going to crop up at this rate: an unpalatable disappoint- 
ment, for we had hoped to have a week in St. Louis. The 
Southern was a good hotel, and we could have had a com- 
fortable time there. It is large and well conducted, and 
its decorations do not make one cry, as do those of the 
vast Palmer House, in Chicago, True, the billiard tables 
were of the Old Silurian Period, and the cues and balls of 



1 66 



the Post-Pliocene ; but there was refreshment in this, not 
discomfort ; for there are rest and heahng in the contem- 
plation of antiquities. 

The most notable absence observable in the billiard 
room was the absence of the river man. If he was there, 
he had taken in his sign ; he was in disguise. I saw there 
none of the swell airs and graces, and ostentatious dis- 
plays of money, and pompous squanderings of it, which 
used to distinguish the steamboat crowd from the dry- 
land crowd in the by-gone days, in the thronged billiard 
rooms of St. Louis. In those times the principal saloons 
were always populous with river men ; given fifty players 
present, thirty or thirty-five were likely to be from the 
river. But I suspected that the ranks were thin now, 
and the steamboatmen no longer an aristocracy. Why, 
in my time they used to call the " bar-keep " Bill, or Joe, 
or Tom, and slap him on the shoulder ; I watched for 
that. But none of these people did it. Manifestly, a 
glory that once was had dissolved and vanished away in 
these twenty-one years. 

When I went up to my room, I found there the young 
man called Rogers, crying. Rogers was not his name ; 
neither was Jones, Brown, Dexter, Ferguson, Bascom, 
nor Thompson ; but he answered to either of these that 
a body found handy in an emergency ; or to any other 
name, in fact, if he perceived that you meant him. He 
said : 

" What is a person to do here when he wants a drink of 
w^ater ? drink this slush ? " 

^' Can't you drink it ? " 

''I could if I had some other water to wash it with." 

Here was a thing which had not changed ; a score of 
years had not affected this w^ater's mulatto complexion in 
the least ; a score of centuries would succeed no better, 
perhaps. It comes out of the turbulent, bank-caving 



[67 



Missouri, and every tumblerful of it holds nearly an acre 
of land in solution. I got this fact from the bishop of 
the diocese. If you will let your glass stand half an hour, 
you can separate the land from the water as easy as 
Genesis ; and then you will find them both good : the 
one good to eat, the other good to drink. The land is 
very nourishing, the water is thoroughly wholesome. 
The one appeases hunger ; the other, thirst. But the 
natives do not take them separately, but together, as 
nature mixed them. When they find an inch of mud in 
the bottom of a glass, they stir it up, and then take the 
draught as they would gruel. It is difficult for a stranger 
to get used to this batter, but once used to it he will pre- 
fer it to water. This is really the case. It is good for 
steamboating, and good to drink ; but it is worthless for 
all other purposes, except baptizing. 

Next morning we drove around town in the rain. The 
city seemed but little changed. It was greatly changed, 
but it did not seem so ; because in St. Louis, as in London 
and Pittsburg, you can't persuade a new thing to look 
new ; the coal-smoke turns it into an antiquity the 
moment you take your hand off it. The place had just 
about doubled its size since I was a resident of it, and 
was now become a city of four hundred thousand inhabit- 
ants ; still, in the solid business parts, it looked about as 
it had looked formerly. Yet I am sure there is not as 
much smoke in St, Louis now as there used to be. The 
smoke used to bank itself in a dense billowy black canopy 
over the town, and hide the sky from view. This shelter 
is very much thinner now ; still, there is a sufficiency of 
smoke there, I think. I heard no complaint. 

However, on the outskirts changes were apparent 
enough ; notably in dwelling-house architecture. The 
fine new homes are noble and beautiful and modern. 
They stand by themselves, too, with green lawns around 



i68 



them ; whereas the dwelHngs of a former day are packed 
together in blocks, and are all of one pattern, with win- 
dows all alike, set in an arched frame-work of twisted 
stone ; a sort of house which was handsome enough when 
it was rarer. 

There was another change — the Forest Park. This 
was new to me. It is beautiful and very extensive, and 
has the excellent merit of having been made mainly by 
nature. There are other parks, and fine ones, notably 
Tower Grove and the Botanical Gardens ; for St. Louis 
interested herself in such improvements at an earlier day 
than did the most of our cities. 

The first time I ever saw St. Louis I could have 
bought it for six million dollars, and it was the mistake 
of my life that I did not do it. It was bitter now to look 
abroad over this domed and steepled metropolis, this solid 
expanse of bricks and mortar stretching away on every 
hand into dim, measure-defying distances, and remember 
that I had allowed that opportunity to go by. Why I 
should have allowed it to go by seems, of course, foolish 
and inexplicable to-day, at a first glance ; yet there were 
reasons at the time to justify this course. 

A Scotchman, Hon. Charles Augustus Murray, writing 
some forty-five or fifty years ago, said : ''The streets are 
narrow, ill-paved, and ill-lighted." Those streets are 
narrow still, of course ; many of them are ill-paved yet ; 
but the reproach of ill-lighting cannot be repeated now. 
The "Catholic New Church " was the only notable build- 
ing then, and Mr. Murray was confidently called upon 
to admire it, with its "species of Grecian portico, sur- 
mounted by a kind of steeple, much too diminutive in 
its proportions, and surmounted by sundry ornaments " 
which the unimaginative Scotchman found himself "quite 
unable to describe"; and therefore was grateful when 
a German tourist helped him out with the exclamation : 



I 



169 



"By , they look exactly like bed-posts !" St. Louis 

is well equipped with stately and noble public buildings 
now, and the little church, which the people used to be 
so proud of, lost its importance a long time ago. Still, 
this would not surprise Mr. Murray, if he could come 
back ; for he prophesied the coming greatness of St. 
Louis with strong confidence. 

The further we drove in our inspection-tour, the more 
sensibly I realized how the city had grown since I had 
seen it last ; changes in detail became steadily more 
apparent and frequent than at first, too : changes 
uniformly evidencing progress, energy, prosperity. 

But the change of changes was on the 'Mevee." This 
time, a departure from the rule. Half a dozen sound- 
asleep steamboats where I used to see a solid mile of 
wide-awake ones ! This was melancholy, this was woful. 
The absence of the pervading and jocund steamboatman 
from the billiard saloon v/as explained. He was absent 
because he is no more. His occupation is gone, his 
power has passed away, he is absorbed into the common 
herd ; he grinds at the mill, a shorn Samson and incon- 
spicuous. Half a dozen lifeless steamboats, a mile of 
empty wharves, a negro, fatigued with whiskey, stretched 
asleep in a wide and soundless vacancy, where the serried 
hosts of commerce used to contend ! * Here was desola- 
tion indeed. 

" The old, old sea, as one in tears, 

Comes murmuring, with foamy lips, 
And knocking at the vacant piers. 

Calls for his long-lost multitude of ships." 

The towboat and the railroad had done their work, and 
done it w^ell and completely. The mighty bridge, stretch- 

* Captain Marryat, writing forty-five years ago, says ; "St. Louis has 
20,000 inhabitants. The river abreast of the toiun is crowded with 
steamboats, lying in two or three tiers.'" 



I70 



ing along over our heads, had done its share in the 
slaughter and spoliation. Remains of former steamboat- 
men told me, with wan satisfaction, that the bridge 
doesn't pay. Still, it can be no sufficient compensation 
to a corpse to know that the dynamite that laid him 
out was not of as good quality as it had been supposed 
to be. 

The pavements along the river front' were bad ; the 
sidewalks were rather out of repair ; there was a rich 
abundance of mud. All this was familiar and satisfying ; 
but the ancient armies of drays, and struggling throngs 
of men, and mountains of freight were gone; and Sab- 
bath reigned in their stead. The immemorial mile of 
cheap, foul doggeries remained, but business was dull 
with them ; the multitudes of poison-shilling Irishmen 
had departed, and in their places were a few scattering 
handfuls of ragged negroes, some drinking, some drunk, 
some nodding, others asleep. St. Louis is a great and 
prosperous and advancing city; but the river-edge of it 
seems dead past resurrection. 

Mississippi steamboating was born about 1812; at the 
end of thirty years it had grown to mighty proportions; 
and in less than thirty more it was dead ! A strangely 
short life for so majestic a creature. Of course it is not 
absolutely dead; neither is a crippled octogenarian who 
could once jump twenty-two feet on level ground ; but 
as contrasted with what it was in its prime vigor, Missis- 
sippi steamboating may be called dead. 

It killed the old-fashioned keel-boating, by reducing 
the freight-trip to New Orleans to less than a week. The 
railroads have killed the steamboat passenger traffic by 
doing in two or three days what the steamboats com- 
sumed a week in doing : and the towing-fleets have killed 
the through-freight traffic by dragging six or seven 
steamer-loads of stuff down the river at a time, at an 



171 



expense so trivial that steamboat competition was out of 
the question. 

Freight and passenger way traffic remains to the 
steamers. This is in the hands — along the two thousand 
miles of river between St. Paul and New Orleans — of 
two or three close corporations well fortified with capital; 
and, by able and thoroughly businesslike management 
and system, these make a sufficiency of money out of 
what is left of the once prodigious steamboating industry. 
I suppose that St. Louis and New Orleans have not suf- 
fered materially by the change, but alas for the wood- 
yard man ! 

He used to fringe the river all the way; his close- 
ranked merchandise stretched from the one city to the 
other, along the banks, and he sold uncountable cords of 
it every year for cash on the nail; but all the scattering 
boats ■ that are left burn coal now, and the seldomest 
spectacle on the Mississippi to-day is a wood-pile. 
Where now is the once wood-yard man ? 



CHAPTER XXIII 
TRAVELLING INCOGNITO 

My idea was to tarry a while in every town between 
St. Louis and New Orleans. To do this, it would be 
necessary to go from place to place by the short packet 
lines. It was an easy plan to make, and would have been 
an easy one to follow, twenty years ago — but not now. 
There are wide intervals between boats, these days. 

I wanted to begin with the interesting old French 
settlements of St. Genevieve and Kaskaskia, sixty miles 
below St. Louis. There was only one boat advertised 
for that section — a Grand Tower packet. Still, one boat 
was enough; so we went down to look at her. She was 
a venerable rack-heap, and a fraud to boot; for she was 
playing herself for personal property, whereas the good 
honest dirt was so thickly caked all over her that she 
was righteously taxable as real estate. There are places 
in New England where her hurricane deck would be worth 
a hundred and fifty dollars an acre. The soil on her 
forecastle was quite good — the new crop of wheat was 
already springing from the cracks in protected places. 
The companion-way was of a dry sandy character, and 
would have been well suited for grapes, with a southern 
exposure and a little subsoiling. The soil of the boiler 
deck was thin and rocky, but good enough for grazing 
purposes. A colored boy was on watch here — nobody 
else visible. We gathered from him that this calm craft 
would go as advertised, "if she got her trip"; if she 
didn't get it, she would wait for it. 

*' Has she got any of her trip ? " 



173 



'^ Bless y<^u, no, boss! She ain't unloadened, yit. She 
only come in dis mawnin'." 

He was uncertain as to when she might get her trip, 
but thought it might be to-morrow or maybe next day. 
This would not answer at all; so we had to give up the 
novelty of sailing down the river on a farm. We had 
one more arrow in our quiver: a Vicksburg packet, the 
Gold Dust^ was to leave at 5 p. m. We took passage 
in her for Memphis, and gave up the idea of stopping off 
here and there, as being impracticable. She was neat, 
clean, and comfortable. We camped on the boiler deck, 
and bought some cheap literature to kill time with. The 
vender was a venerable Irishman with a benevolent face 
and a tongue that worked easily in the socket, and from 
him we learned that he had lived in St. Louis thirty-four 
years and had never been across the river during that 
period. Then he wandered into a very flowing lecture, 
filled with classic names and allusions, which was quite 
wonderful for fluency until the fact became rather ap- 
parent that this was not the first time, nor perhaps the 
fiftieth, that the speech had been delivered. He was a 
good deal of a character, and much better company than 
the sappy literature he was selling. A random remark, 
connecting Irishmen and beer, brought this nugget of 
information out of him : 

*' They don't drink it, sir. They caiit drink it, sir. 
Give an Irishman lager for a month, and he's a dead man. 
An Irishman is lined with copper, and the beer corrodes 
it. But whiskey polishes the copper and is the saving of 
him, sir." 

At eight o'clock, promptly, we backed out and — crossed 
the river. As we crept toward the shore, in the thick 
darkness, a blinding glory of white electric light burst 
suddenly from our forecastle, and lit up the water and the 
warehouses as with a noonday glare. Another big change, 



174 



this — no more flickering, smoky, pitch-dripping, inef- 
fectual torch-baskets, now : their day is past. Next, 
instead of calling out a score of hands to man the stage, 
a couple of men and a hatful of steam lowered it from the 
derrick where it was suspended, launched it, deposited it 
in just the right spot, and the whole thing was over and 
done with before a mate in the olden time could have got 
his profanity-mill adjusted to begin the preparatory ser- 
vices. Why this new and simple method of handling the 
stages was not thought of when the first steamboat was 
built is a mystery which helps one to realize what a dull- 
witted slug the average human being is. 

We finally got away at two in the morning, and when I 
turned out at six we were rounding to at a rocky point 
where there was an old stone warehouse — at any rate, 
the ruins of it; two or three decayed dwelling-houses were 
near by in the shelter of the leafy hills, but there were 
no evidences of human or other animal life to be seen. I 
wondered if I had forgotten the river, for I had no recol- 
lection whatever of this place; the shape of the river, 
too, was unfamiliar; there was nothing in sight anywhere 
that I could remember ever having seen before. I was 
surprised, disappointed, and annoyed. 

We put ashore a well-dressed lady and gentleman, and 
two well-dressed lady-like young girls, together with 
sundry Russia leather bags. A strange place for such 
folk ! No carriage was waiting. The party moved off 
as if they had not expected any, and struck down a wind- 
ing country road afoot. 

But the mystery was explained when we got under way 
again, for these people were evidently bound for a large 
town which lay shut in behind a tow-head (/. ^., new 
island) a couple of miles below this landing. I couldn't 
remember that town; I couldn't place it, couldn't call its 
name. So I lost part of my temper. I suspected that it 



175 



might be St. Genevieve — and so it proved to be. Observe 
what this eccentric river had been about : it had built up 
this huge, useless tow-head directly in front of this town, 
cut off its river communications, fenced it away com- 
pletely, and made a ''country" town of it. It is a fine 
old place, too, and deserved a better fate. It was settled 
by the French, and is a relic of a time when one could 
travel from the mouths of the Mississippi to Quebec and 
be on French territory and under French rule all the way. 
Presently I ascended to the hurricane deck and cast a 
longing glance toward the pilot-house. 



CHAPTER XXIV 
MY INCOGNITO IS EXPLODED 

After a close study of the face of the pilot on watch, 
I was satisfied that I had never seen him before, so I went 
up there. The pilot inspected me; I reinspected the 
pilot. These customary preliminaries over, I sat down 
on the high bench, and he faced about and went on with 
his work. Every detail of the pilot-house was familiar to 
me, with one exception — a large-mouthed tube under the 
breast-board. I puzzled over that thing a considerable 
time; then gave up and asked what it was for. 

"To hear the engine-bells through." 

It was another good contrivance which ought to have 
been invented half a century sooner. So I was thinking 
when the pilot asked : 

*' Do you know what this rope is for ? " 

I managed to get around this question without com- 
mitting myself. 

*' Is this the first time you were ever in a pilot-house ? " 

I crept under that one. 

*' Where are you from ? " 

*' New England." 

*' First time you have ever been West ? " 

I climbed over this one. 

*'If you take an interest in such things, I can tell you 
what all these things are for." 

I said I should like it. 

'* This," putting his hand on a backing-bell rope, *'is 
to sound the fire-alarm; this," putting his hand on a 
go-ahead bell, ''is to call the texas-tender; this one," 



177 



indicating tlie whistle-lever, ''is to call the captain" — 
and so he went on, touching one object after another and 
reeling off his tranquil spool of lies. 

I had never felt so like a passenger before. I thanked 
him, with emotion, for each new fact, and wrote it down 
in my note-book. The pilot warmed to his opportunity, 
and proceeded to load me up in the good old-fashioned 
way. At times I was afraid he was going to rupture his 
invention; but it always stood the strain, and he pulled 
through all right. He drifted, by easy stages, into 
revealments of the river's marvellous eccentricities of one 
sort and another, and backed them up with some pretty 
gigantic illustrations. For instance : 

'' Do you see that little bowlder sticking out of the 
water yonder? Well, when I first came on the river, that 
was a solid ridge of rock, over sixty feet high and two 
miles long. All washed away but that." [This with a 
sigh.] 

I had a mighty impulse to destroy him, but it seemed 
to me that killing, in any ordinary way, would be too 
good for him. 

Once, when an odd-looking craft, with a vast coal- 
scuttle slanting aloft on the end of a beam, was steaming 
by in the distance, he indifferently drew attention to it, 
as one might to an object grown wearisome through 
familiarity, and observed that it was an ''alligator boat." 

"An alligator boat ? What's it for? " 

" To dredge out alligators with." 

''Are they so thick as to be troublesome ? " 

"Well, not now, because the Government keeps them 
down. But they used to be. Not everywhere; but in 
favorite places, here and there, where the river is wide 
and shoal — like Plum Point, and Stack Island, and so 
on — places they call alligator beds." 

" Did they actually impede navigation ? " 



178 



*' Years ago, yes, in very low water; there was hardly 
4 trip, then, that we didn't get aground on alligators." 

It seemed to me that I should certainly have to get 
out my tomahawk. However, I restrained myself and 
said: 

*' It must have been dreadful." 

" Yes, it was one of the main difficulties about piloting. 
It was so hard to tell anything about the water; the 

d d things shift around so — never lie still five minutes 

at a time. You can tell a wind-reef, straight off, by the 
look of it; you can tell a break; you can tell a sand- 
reef — that's all easy; but an alligator reef doesn't show 
up, worth anything. Nine times in ten you can't tell 
where the water is; and when you do see where it is, like 
as not it ain't there when^y^z/ get there, the devils have 
swapped around so, meantime. Of course there were 
some few pilots that could judge of alligator water nearly 
as well as they could of any other kind, but they had to 
have natural talent for it; it wasn't a thing a body could 
learn, yoM had to be born with it. Let me see: There 
was Ben Thornburg, and Beck Jolly, and Squire Bell, and 
Horace Bixby, and Major Downing, and John Stevenson, 
and Billy Gordon, and Jim Brady, and George Ealer, and 
Billy Youngblood — all A i alligator pilots. They could 
tell alligator water as far as another Christian could tell 
whiskey. Read it ? Ah, couldnt they, though ! I only 
wish I had as many dollars as they could read alligator 
water a mile and a half off. Yes, and it paid them to do 
it, too. A good alligator pilot could always get fifteen 
hundred dollars a month. Nights, other people had to 
lay up for alligators, but those fellows never laid up for 
alligators; they never laid up for anything but fog 
They could smell the best alligator water — so it was said. 
I don't know whether it was so or not, and I think a 
body's got his hands full enough if he sticks to just what 



179 



he knows himself, without going around backing up other 
people's say-so's, though there's a plenty that ain't back- 
ward about doing it, as long as they can roust out some- 
thing wonderful to tell. Which is not the style of 
Robert Styles, by as much as three fathom — maybe 
quarter-Z^i-i-." 

[My! Was this Rob Styles? This mustached and 
stately figure ? A slim enough cub, in my time. How 
he has improved in comeliness in five-and-twenty years — 
and in the noble art of inflating his facts.] After these 
musings, I said aloud: 

*'I should think that dredging out the alligators 
wouldn't have done much good, because they could come 
back again right away." 

'' If you had had as much experience of alligators as 
I have, you wouldn't talk like that. You dredge an alli- 
gator once and he's convinced. It's the last you hear of 
him. He wouldn't come back for pie. If there's one 
thing that an alligator is more down on than another, it's 
being dredged. Besides, they were not simply shoved 
out of the way; the most of the scoopful were scooped 
aboard; they emptied them into the hold ; and when 
they had got a trip, they took them to Orleans to the 
Government works." 

''What for?" 

''Why, to make soldier-shoes out of their hides. All 
the Government shoes are made of alligator hide. It 
makes the best shoes in the world. They last five years, 
and they won't absorb water. The alligator fishery is a 
Government monopoly. All the alligators are Govern- 
ment property — just like the live-oaks. You cut down a 
live-oak, and Government fines you fifty dollars; you kill 
an alligator, and up you go for misprision of treason — 
lucky duck if they don't hang you, too. And they will, 
if you're a Democrat. The buzzard is the sacred bird of 



[8o 



the South, and 3^ou can't touch him; the alligator is the 
sacred bird of the Government, and you've got to let 
him alone." 

" Do you ever get aground on the alligators now?" 
*' Oh, no ! it hasn't happened for years." 
"Well, then, why do they still keep the alligator boats 
in service ? " 

" Just for police duty — nothing more. They merely 
go up and down now and then. The present genera- 
tion of alligators know them as easy as a burglar knows 
a roundsman; when they see one coming, they break 
camp and go for the woods." 

After rounding-out and finishing-up and polishing-off 
the alligator business, he dropped easily and comfortably 
into the historical vein, and told of some tremendous 
feats of half a dozen old-time steamboats of his acquaint- 
ance, dwelling at special length upon a certain extra- 
ordinary performance of his chief favorite among this 
distinguished fleet — and then adding: 

''That boat was the Cyclone — last trip she ever 
made — she sunk, that very trip; captain was Tom Ballou, 
the most immortal liar that ever I struck. He couldn't 
ever seem to tell the truth, in any kind of weather. Why, 
he would make you fairly shudder. He was the most 
scandalous liar! I left him, finally; I couldn't stand it. 
The proverb says, Mike master, like man'; and if you 
stay with that kind of a man, you'll come under suspicion 
by and by, just as sure as you live. He paid first-class 
wages; but said I, 'What's wages when your reputation's 
in danger?' So I let the wages go, and froze to my 
reputation. And I've never regretted it. Reputation's 
worth every thing, ain't it ? That's the way I look at it. 
He had more selfish organs than any seven men in the 
world — all packed in the stern-sheets of his skull, of 
course, where they belonged. They weighed down the 



back of his head so that it made his nose tilt up in the 
air. People thought it was vanity, but it wasn't, it was 
malice. If you only saw his foot, you'd take him to be 
nineteen feet high, but he wasn't; it was because his foot 
was out of drawing. He was intended to be nineteen 
feet high, no doubt, if his foot was made first, but he 
didn't get there; he was only five feet ten. That's what 
he was, and that's what he is. You take the lies out of 
him, and he'll shrink to the size of your hat; you take 
the malice out of him, and he'll disappear. That Cyclone 
was a rattler to go, and the sweetest thing to steer that 
ever walked the waters. Set her amidships, in a big 
river, and just let her go; it was all you had to do.- She 
would hold herself on a star all night, if you let her alone. 
You couldn't ever feel her rudder. It wasn't any more 
labor to steer her than it is to count the Republican vote 
in a South Carolina election. One morning, just at day- 
break, the last trip she ever made, they took her rudder 
aboard to mend it; I didn't know any thing about it; I 
backed her out from the wood-yard and went a-weaving 
down the river all serene. When I had gone about 
twenty-three miles, and made four horribly crooked 
crossings " 

" Without any rudder ? " 

'' Yes — old Capt. Tom appeared on the roof and began 
to find fault with me for running such a dark night " 

*' Such a dark night? Why, you said " 

*' Never mind what I said — 'twas as dark as Egypt now^ 
though pretty soon the moon began to rise, and " 

"You mean the sim — because you started out just at 
break of — look here! W^as this before you quitted the 
captain on account of his lying, or " 

'' It was before — oh, a long time before. And as I 
was saying, he " 

'' But was this the trip she sunk, or was " 



I82 

Oh, no ! months afterward. And so the old man, 



he- 



■' Then she made two last trips, because you said- 



He stepped back from the wheel, swabbing away his 
perspiration, and said : 

" Here ! " (calling me by name), '•'■ you take her and lie 
a while — you're handier at it than I am: Trying to play 
yourself for a stranger and an innocent ! Why, I knew 
you before you had spoken seven words; and I made up 
my mind to find out what was your little game. It was to 
di^aiv me out. Well, I let you, didn't I ? Now take the 
wheel and finish the watch; and next time play fair, and 
you won't have to work your passage." 

Thus ended the fictitious-name business. And not six 
hours out from St. Louis! but I had gained a privilege, 
any way, for I had been itching to get my hands on the 
wheel, from the beginning. I seemed to have forgotten 
the river, but I hadn't forgotten how to steer a steam- 
boat, nor how to enjoy it, either. 



CHAPTER XXV 
FROM CAIRO TO HICKMAN 

The scenery from St. Louis to Cairo — two hundred 
miles — is varied and beautiful. The hills were clothed in 
the fresh foliage of spring now, and were a gracious and 
worthy setting for the broad river flowing between. Our 
trip began auspiciously, with a perfect day, as to breeze 
and sunshine, and our boat threw the miles out behind 
her with satisfactory despatch. 

We found a railway intruding at Chester, 111. ; Chester 
has also a penitentiary now, and is otherwise march- 
ing on. At Grand Tower, too, there was a railway; 
and another at Cape Girardeau. The former town 
gets its name from a huge, squat pillar of rock, which 
stands up out of the water on the Missouri side of the 
river — a piece of nature's fanciful handiwork — and is one 
of the most picturesque features of the scenery of that 
region. For nearer or remoter neighbors, the Tower has 
the Devil's Bake Oven — so called, perhaps, because it 
does not powerfully resemble any body else's bake oven; 
and the Devil's Tea-table — this latter a great smooth- 
surfaced mass of rock, with diminishing wine-glass stem, 
perched some fifty or sixty feet above the river, beside a 
beflowered and garlanded precipice, and sufficiently like 
a tea-table to answer for any body. Devil or Christian. 
Away down the river we have the Devil's Elbow and the 
Devil's Race-course, and lots of other property of his 
which I cannot now call to mind. 

The town of Grand Tower was evidently a busier 
place than it had been in old times, but it seemed to need 



1 84 



some repairs here and there, and a new coat of white- 
wash all over. Still, it was pleasant to me to see the old 
coat once more. " Uncle " Mumford, our second officer, 
said the place had been suffering from high water and 
consequently was not looking its best now. But he said 
it was not strange that it didn't waste whitewash on 
itself, for more lime was made there, and of a better 
quality, than anywhere in the West; and added, *' On a 
dairy farm you never can get any milk for your coffee, 
nor any sugar for it on a sugar plantation; and it is 
against sense to go to a lime town to hunt for white- 
wash." In my own experience I knew the first two 
items to be true : and also that people who sell candy 
don't care for candy; therefore there was plausibility in 
Uncle Mumford's final observation that ''people who 
make lime run more to religion than whitewash." Uncle 
Mumford said, further, that Grand Tower was a great 
coaling centre and a prospering place. 

Cape Girardeau is situated on a hillside, and makes 
a handsome appearance. There is a great Jesuit school 
for boys at the foot of the town by the river. Uncle 
Mumford said it had as high a reputation for thorough- 
ness as any similar institution in Missouri. There was 
another college higher up on an airy summit — a bright 
new edifice, picturesquely and peculiarly towered and 
pinnacled — a sort of gigantic casters, with the cruets all 
complete. Uncle Mumford said that Cape Girardeau was 
the Athens of Missouri, and contained several colleges 
besides those already mentioned; and all of them on a 
religious basis of one kind or another. He directed my 
attention to what he called the ''strong and pervasive 
religious look of the town," but I could not see that it 
looked more religious than the other hill towns with the 
same slope and built of the same kind of bricks. Partiali- 
ties often make people see more than really exists. 



I 



i85 



Uncle Mumford has been thirty years a mate on the 
river. He is a man of practical sense and a level head; 
has observed; has had much experience of one sort and 
another; has opinions; has, also, just a perceptible dash 
of poetry in his composition, an easy gift of speech, 
a thick growl in his voice, and an oath or two where he 
can get at them when the exigencies of his office require 
a spiritual lift. He is a mate of the blessed old-time 

kind; and goes gravely d ing around, w^hen there is 

work to the fore, in a way to mellow the ex-steamboat- 
man's heart with sweet, soft longings for the vanished 

days that shall come no more. " Git up, there, 

you ! Going to be all day ? Why d'n't you say you was 
petrified in your hind legs, before you shipped ?" 

He is a steady man with his crew; kind and just, but 
firm; so they like him, and stay with him. He is still 
in the slouchy garb of the old generation of mates; bu 
next trip the Anchor Line will have him in uniform — a 
natty blue naval uniform, with brass buttons, along with 
all the officers of the line — and then he will be a totally 
different style of scenery from what he is now. 

Uniforms on the Mississippi ! It beats all the other 
changes put together, for surprise. Still, there is 
another surprise — that it was not made fifty years ago. 
It is so manifestly sensible that it might have been 
thought of earlier, one would suppose. During fifty 
years, out there, the innocent passenger in need of help 
and information has been mistaking the mate for the 
cook, and the captain for the barber — and being roughly 
entertained for it, too. But his troubles are ended now. 
And the greatly improved aspect of the boat's staff is 
another advantage achieved by the dress-reform period. 

Steered down the bend below Cape Girardeau. They 
used to call it ^'Steersman's Bend"; plain sailing and 
plenty of w^ater in it, always; about the only place in the 



1 86 



Upper River that a new cub was allowed to take a boat 
through, in low water. 

Thebes, at the head of the Grand Chain, and Commerce 
at the foot of it, were towns easily rememberable, as they 
had not undergone conspicuous alteration. Nor the 
Chain, either — in the nature of things; for it is a chain of 
sunken rocks admirably arranged to capture and kill 
steamboats on bad nights. A good many steamboat 
corpses lie buried there, out of sight; among the rest my 
first friend, the Paid Jones ; she knocked her bottom 
out, and went down like a pot, so the historian told me — 
Uncle Mumford. He said she had a gray mare aboard, 
and a preacher. To me, this sufficiently accounted for 
the disaster; as it did, of course, to Mumford, who 
added : 

**But there are many ignorant people who would scoff 
at such a matter, and call it superstition. But you will 
always notice that they are people who have never 
travelled with a gray mare and a preacher. I went down 
the river in such company. We grounded at Bloody 
Island; we grounded at Hanging Dog; we grounded 
just below this same Commerce; we jolted Beaver Dam 
Rock; we hit one of the worst breaks in the ' Graveyard* 
behind Goose Island; we had a roustabout killed in a 
fight; we burnt a boiler; broke a shaft; collapsed a flue; 
and went into Cairo with nine feet of water in the hold — 
may have been more, may have been less. I remember 
it as if it were yesterday. The men lost their heads with 
terror. They painted the mare blue, in sight of town, 
and threw the preacher overboard, or we should not have 
arrived at all. The preacher was fished out and saved. 
He acknowledged, himself, that he had been to blame. 
I remember it all, as if it were yesterday." 

That this combination — of preacher and gray mare — 
should breed calamity seems strange, and at first glance 



i87 



unbelievable; but the fact is fortified by so much unassail- 
able proof that to doubt is to dishonor reason. I myself 
remember a case where a captain was warned by numer- 
ous friends against taking a gray mare and a preacher 
with him, but persisted in his purpose in spite of all that 
could be said; and the same day — it may have been the 
next, and some say it was, though I think it was the 
same day — he got drunk and fell down the hatchway 
and was borne to his home a corpse. This is literally 
true. 

No vestige of Hat Island is left now; every shred of 
it is washed away. I do not even remember what part 
of the river it used to be in, except that it was between 
St. Louis and Cairo somewhere. It was a bad region — 
all around and about Hat Island, in early days. A 
farmer, who lived on the Illinois shore there, said that 
twenty-nine steamboats had left their bones strung along 
within sight from his house. Between St. Louis and 
Cairo the steamboat wrecks average one to the mile — 
two hundred wrecks, altogether. 

I could recognize big changes from Commerce down. 
Beaver Dam Rock was out in the middle of the river 
now, and throwing a prodigious "break"; it used to be 
close to the shore, and boats went down outside of it. 
A big island that used to be away out in mid-river 
has retired to the Missouri shore, and boats do not go 
near it any more. The island called Jacket Pattern is 
whittled down to a wedge now, and is booked for early 
destruction. Goose Island is all gone but a little dab, 
the size of a steamboat. The perilous "Graveyard," 
among whose numberless wrecks we used to pick our 
way so slowly and gingerly, is far away from the channel 
now, and a terror to nobody. One of the islands 
formerly called the Two Sisters is gone entirely; the 
other, which used to lie close to the Illinois shore, is 



i88 



now on the Missouri side, a mile away; it is joined 
solidly to the shore, and it takes a sharp eye to see 
where the seam is — but it is Illinois ground yet, and the 
people who live on it have to ferry themselves over and 
work the Illinois roads and pay Illinois taxes: singular 
state of things! 

Near the mouth of the river several islands were miss- 
ing — washed away. Cairo was still there — easily visible 
across the long, flat point upon whose further verge it 
stands; but we had to steam a long way around to get 
to it. Night fell as we were going out of the '^ Upper 
River" and meeting the floods of the Ohio. We dashed 
along without anxiety; for the hidden rock which used 
to lie right in the way has moved up stream a long dis- 
tance out of the channel; or rather, about one county 
has gone into the river from the Missouri point, and the 
Cairo point has "made down" and added to its long 
tongue of territory correspondingly. The Mississippi 
is a just and equitable river; it never tumbles one man's 
farm overboard without building a new farm just like it 
for that man's neighbor. This keeps down hard feelings. 

Going into Cairo, we came near killing a steamboat 
which paid no attention to our whistle and then tried 
to cross our bows. By doing some strong backing, we 
saved him; which was a great loss, for he would have 
made good literature. 

Cairo is a brisk town now; and is substantially built, 
and has a city look about it which is in noticeable con- 
trast to its former estate, as per Mr. Dickens's portrait 
of it. However, it was already building with bricks 
when I had seen it last — which was when Colonel (now 
General) Grant was drilling his first command there. 
Uncle Mumford says the libraries and Sunday-schools 
have done a good work in Cairo, as well as the brick 
masons. Cairo has a heavy railroad and river trade, and 



1 89 



her situation at the junction of the two great rivers is so 
advantageous that she cannot well help prospering. 

When I turned out in the morning, we had passed 
Columbus, Ky., and were approaching Hickman, a pretty 
town perched on a handsome hill. Hickman is in a 
rich tobacco region, ana formerly enjoyed a great and 
lucrative trade in that staple, collecting it there in her 
warehouses from a large area of country and shipping 
it by boat; but Uncle Mumford says she built a railway 
to facilitate this commerce a little more, and he thinks 
it facilitated it the wrong way — took the bulk of the 
trade out of her hands by "collaring it along the line 
without gathering it at her doors/' 



CHAPTER XXVI 
UNDER FIRE 

Talk began to run upon the war now, for we were 
getting down into the upper edge of the former battle- 
stretch by this time. Columbus was just behind us, so 
there was a good deal said about the famous battle of 
Belmont. Several of the boat's officers had seen active 
service in the Mississippi war-fleet. I gathered that 
they found themselves sadly out of their element in that 
kind of business at first, but afterward got accustomed 
to it, reconciled to it, and more or less at home in it. 
One of our pilots had his first war experience in the 
Belmont fight, as a pilot on a boat in the Confederate 
service. I had often had a curiosity to know how a 
green hand might feel, in his maiden battle, perched all 
solitary and alone on high in a pilot-house, a target for 
Tom, Dick, and Harry, and nobody at his elbow to shame 
him from showing the white feather when matters grew 
hot and perilous around him; so to me his story was 
valuable — it filled a gap for me which all histories had 
left till that time empty. 

THE pilot's first BATTLE. 

He said: 

*'It was the 7th of November. The fight began at 
seven in the morning. I was on the R. H. IF. Hill. 
Took over a load of troops from Columbus. Came back, 
and took over a battery of artillery. My partner said he 
was going to see the fight; wanted me to go along. I 



igi 



said, No, I wasn't anxious, I would look at it from the 
pilot-house. He said I was a coward, and left. 

''That fight was an awful sight. General Cheatham 
made his men strip their coats off and throw them in a 

pile, and said, 'Now follow me to h 1 or victory! ' I 

heard him say that from the pilot-house; and then he 
galloped in, at the head of his troops. Old General 
Pillow, with his white hair, mounted on a white horse, 
sailed in, too; leading his troops as lively as a boy. By 
and by the Federals chased the rebels back, and here 
they came! tearing along, every-body for himself and 
Devil take the hindmost! and down under the bank they 
scrambled, and took shelter. I was sitting with my legs 
hanging out of the pilot-house window. All at once 
I noticed a whizzing sound passing my ear. Judged it 
was a bullet. I didn't stop to think about any thing, 
I just tilted over backward and landed on the floor, and 
stayed there. The balls came booming around. Three 
cannon-balls went through the chimney; one ball took 
off the corner of the pilot-house; shells were screaming 
and bursting all around. Mighty warm times — I wished 
I hadn't come. I lay there on the pilot-house floor, 
while the shots came faster and faster. I crept in behind 
the big stove, in the middle of the pilot-house. Pres- 
ently a minie-ball came through the stove, and just 
grazed my head, and cut my hat. I judged it was time 
to go away from there. The captain was on the roof 
with a red-headed major from Memphis — a fine-looking 
man. I heard him say he wanted to leave here, but 
'that pilot is killed.' I crept over to the starboard 
side to pull the bell to set her back; raised up and took 
a look, and I saw about fifteen shot-holes through the 
window-panes; had come so lively I hadn't noticed them. 
I glanced out on the water, and the spattering shot were 
like a hail-storm. I thought best to get out of that 



ig2 



place. I went down the pilot-house guy, head first — not 
feet first but head first — slid down — before I struck the 
deck, the captain said we must leave there. So I climbed 
up the guy and got on the floor again. About that time 
they collared my partner and were bringing him up to 
the pilot-house between two soldiers. Somebody had 
said I was killed. He put his head in and saw me on 
the floor reaching for the backing-bells. He said, ' Oh, 

h 1! he ain't shot,' and jerked away from the men who 

had him by the collar, and ran below. We were there 
until three o'clock in the afternoon, and then got away 
all right. 

" The next time I saw my partner, I said, ' Now, come 
out; be honest, and tell me the truth. Where did you go 
when you went to see that battle ? ' He says, ' I went 
down in the hold.' 

** All through that fight I was scared nearly to death. I 
hardly knew any thing, I was so frightened; but you see, 
nobody knew that but me. Next day General Polk sent 
for me, and praised me for my bravery and gallant 
conduct. 

*'I never said any thing, I let it go at that. I judged 
it wasn't so, but it was not for me to contradict a general 
officer. 

''Pretty soon after that I was sick, and used up, and 
had to go off to the Hot Springs. When there, I got a 
good many letters from commanders saying they wanted 
me to xome back. I declined, because I wasn't well 
enough or strong enough; but I kept still, and kept the 
reputation I had made." 

A plain story, straightforwardly told; but Mumford 
told me that that pilot had ''gilded that scare of his, in 
spots "; that his subsequent career in the war was proof 
of it. 



193 



We struck down through the chute of Island No. 8, and 
I went below and fell into conversation with a passenger, a 
handsome man, with easy carriage and an intelligent face. 
We were approaching Island No. lo, a place so celebrated 
during the war. This gentleman's home was on the main 
shore in its neighborhood. I had some talk with him 
about the war times; but presently the discourse fell 
upon ''feuds," for in no part of the South has the ven- 
detta flourished more briskly, or held out longer between 
warring families, than in this particular region. This 
gentleman said : 

"There's been more than one feud around here, in old 
times, but I reckon the first one was between the Darnells 
and the Watsons. Nobody don't know now what the first 
quarrel was about, it's so long ago; the Darnells and the 
Watsons don't know, if there's any of them living, which 
I don't think there is. Some says it was about a horse 
or a cow — any way, it was a little matter; the money in 
it wasn't of no consequence — none in the world — both 
families was rich. The thing could have been fixed up, 
easy enough; but no, that wouldn't do. Rough words 
had been passed; and so, nothing but blood could fix it 
up after that. That horse or cow, whichever it was, cost 
sixty years of killing or crippling ! Every year or so 
somebody was shot, on one side or the other; and as fast 
as one generation was laid out, their sons took up the 
feud and kept it a-going. And it's just as I say; they 
went on shooting each other, year in and year out — 
making a kind of a religion of it, you see — till they'd don€ 
forgot, long ago, what it was all about. Wherever a 
Darnell caught a Watson, or a Watson caught a Darnell, 
one of 'em was going to get hurt — only question was, 
which of them got the drop on the other. They'd shoot 
one another down, right in the presence of the family. 
They didn't hunt for each other, but when they happened 
13 



194 



to meet, they pulled and begun. Men would shoot boys, 
boys would shoot men. A man shot a boy twelve years 
old — happened on him in the woods, and didn't give 
him no chance. If he had 'a* given him a chance, the 
boy'd 'a' shot him. Both families belonged to the 
same church (every-body around here is religious) ; 
through all this fifty or sixty years' fuss, both tribes was 
there every Sunday, to worship. They lived each side 
of the line, and the church was at a landing called Com- 
promise. Half the church and half the aisle was in 
Kentucky, the other half in Tennessee. Sundays you'd 
see the families drive up, all in their Sunday clothes — men, 
women, and children — and file up the aisle, and set down, 
quiet and orderly, one lot on the Tennessee side of the 
church and the other on the Kentucky side; and the men 
and boys would lean their guns up against the wall, 
handy, and then all hands would join in with the prayer 
and praise; though they say the man next the aisle didn't 
kneel down, along with the rest of the family; kind of 
stood guard. I don't know; never was at that church 
in my life; but I remember that that's what used to 
be said. 

''Twenty or twenty-five years ago one of the feud 
families caught a young man of nineteen out and killed 
him. Don't remember whether it was the Darnells and 
Watsons, or one of the other feuds ; but any way, this young 
man rode up — steamboat laying there at the time — and the 
first thing he saw was a whole gang of the enemy. He 
jumped down behind a wood-pile, but they rode around 
and begun on him, he firing back, and they galloping and 
cavorting and yelling and banging away with all their 
might. Think he wounded a couple of them; but they 
closed in on him and chased him into the river; and as he 
swum along down stream, they followed along the bank 
and kept on shooting at him, and when he struck shore 



195 



he was dead. Windy Marshall told me about it. He saw 
it. He was captain of the boat. 

"Years ago, the Darnells was so thinned out that the 
old man and his two sons concluded they'd leave the 
country. They started to take steamboat just above No. 
lo; but the Watsons got wind of it; and they arrived 
just as the two young Darnells was walking up the com- 
panion-way with their wives on their arms. The fight 
begun then, and they never got no further — both of them 
killed. After that, old Darnell got into trouble with the 
man that run the ferry, and the ferry-man got the worst 
of it — and died. But his friends shot old Darnell through 
and through — filled him full of bullets, and ended him." 

The country gentleman who told me these things had 
been reared in ease and comfort, was a man of good parts, 
and was college-bred. His loose grammar was the fruit 
of careless habit, not ignorance. This habit among 
educated men in the West is not universal, but it is 
prevalent — prevalent in the towns, certainly, if not in the 
cities; and to a degree which one cannot help noticing, 
and marvelling at. I heard a Westerner, who would be 
accounted a highly educated man in any country, say 
** Never mind, it doiit make no difference, any way." A 
life-long resident who was present heard it, but it made 
no impression upon her. She was able to recall the fact 
afterward, when reminded of it; but she confessed that 
the words had not grated upon her ear at the time — a 
confession which suggests that if educated people can 
hear such blasphemous grammar, from such a source, and 
be unconscious of the deed, the crime must be tolerably 
common — so common that the general ear has become 
dulled by familiarity with it, and is no longer alert, no 
longer sensitive to such affronts. 

No one in the world speaks blemishless grammar; no 
one has ever written it — no one, either in the world or 



196 



out of it (taking the Scriptures for evidence on the latter 
point); therefore it would not be fair to exact grammati- 
cal perfection from the peoples of the Valley; but they 
and all other peoples may justly be required to refrain 
from knowingly 3.nd purposely debauching their grammar. 

I found the river greatly changed at Island No. 10. 
The island which I remembered was some three miles 
long and a quarter of a mile wide, heavily timbered, and 
lay near the Kentucky shore — within two hundred yards 
of it, I should say. Now, however, one had to hunt for 
it with a spy-glass. Nothing was left of it but an insig- 
nificant little tuft, and this was no longer near the Ken- 
tucky shore; it was clear over against the opposite shore, 
a mile away. In war times the island had been an im- 
portant place, for it commanded the situation; and, 
being heavily fortified, there was no getting by it. It 
lay between the upper and lower divisions of the Union 
forces, and kept them separate, until a junction was 
finally effected across the Missouri neck of land; but the 
island being itself joined to that neck now, the wide river 
is without obstruction. 

In this region the river passes from Kentucky into 
Tennessee, back into Missouri, then back into Kentucky, 
and thence into Tennessee again. So a mile or two of 
Missouri sticks over into Tennessee. 

The town of New Madrid was looking very unwell; 
but otherwise unchanged from its former condition and 
aspect. Its blocks of frame houses were still grouped in 
the same old flat plain, and environed by the same old 
forests. It was as tranquil as formerly, and apparently 
had neither grown nor diminished in size. It was said 
that the recent high water had invaded it and damaged 
its looks. This was surprising news; for in low water 
the river bank is very high there (fifty feet), and in my 
day an overflow had always been considered an impossi- 



197 



bility. This present flood of 1882 will doubtless be cele- 
brated in the river's history for several generations before 
a deluge of like magnitude shall be seen. It put all the 
unprotected low lands under water, from Cairo to the 
mouth; it broke down the levees in a great many places, 
on both sides of the river; and in some regions south, 
when the flood was at its highest, the Mississippi was 
seventy miles wide ! a number of lives were lost, and the 
destruction of property was fearful. The crops were 
destroyed, houses washed away, and shelterless men and 
cattle forced to take refuge on scattering elevations here 
and there in field and forest, and wait in peril and suffer- 
ing until the boats put in commission by the national and 
local governments, and by newspaper enterprise, could 
come and rescue them. The properties of m^ultitudes of 
people were underwater for months, and the poorer ones 
must have starved by the hundred if succor had not been 
promptly afforded.* The water had been falling during 
a considerable time now, yet as a rule we found the banks 
still under water. 

* For a detailed and interesting description of the great flood, written 
on board of the New Orleans Times-Devwcrafs relief boat, see Ap- 
pendix A. 



CHAPTER XXVII 
SOME IMPORTED ARTICLES 

We met two steamboats at New Madrid. Two steam- 
boats in sight at once ! An infrequent spectacle now in 
the lonesome Mississippi. The loneliness of this solemn, 
stupendous flood is impressive — and depressing. League 
after league, and still league after league, it pours its 
chocolate tide along, between its solid forest walls, its 
almost untenanted shores, with seldom a sail or a moving 
object of any kind to disturb the surface and break the 
monotony of the blank, watery solitude; and so the day 
goes, the night comes, and again the day — and still the 
same, night after night and day after day, — majestic, 
unchanging sameness of serenity, repose, tranquillity, 
lethargy, vacancy, — symbol of eternity, realization of the 
heaven pictured by priest and prophet, and longed for 
by the good and thoughtless ! 

Immediately after the war of 1812 tourists began to 
come to America, from England; scattering ones at first, 
then a sort of procession of them — a procession which 
kept up its plodding, patient march through the land 
during many, many years. Each tourist took notes, and 
went home and published a book — a book which was 
usually calm, truthful, reasonable, kind; but which seemed 
just the reverse to our tender-footed progenitors. A 
glance at these tourist-books shows us that in certain 
of its aspects the Mississippi has undergone no change 
since those strangers visited it, but remiains to-day about 
as it was then. The emotions produced in those for- 
eign breasts by these aspects were not all formed on 



199 

one pattern, of course; they had to be various, along at 
first, because the earlier tourists were obliged to originate 
their emotions, whereas in older countries one can always 
borrow emotions from one's predecessors. And, mind 
you, emotions are among the toughest things in the world 
to manufacture out of whole cloth; it is easier to manu- 
facture seven facts than one emotion. Captain Basil 
Hall, R. N., writing fifty-five years ago, says : 

Here I caught the first glimpse of the object I had so long 
wished to behold, and felt myself amply repaid at that moment 
for all the trouble I had experienced in coming so far ; and stood 
looking at the river flowing past till it was too dark to distinguish 
any thing. But it was not till I had visited the same spot a dozen 
times that I came to a right comprehension of the grandeur of 
the scene. 

Following are Mrs. Trollope's emotions. She is writ- 
ing a few months later in the same year, 1827, and is 
coming in at the mouth of the Mississippi : 

The first indication of our approach to land was the appear- 
ance of this mighty river pouring forth its muddy mass of waters, 
and mingling with the deep blue of the Mexican Gulf. I never be- 
held a scene so utterly desolate as this entrance of the Mississippi. 
Had Dante seen it, he might have drawn images of another Bolgia 
from its horrors. One only object rears itself above the eddying 
waters ; this is the mast of a vessel long since wrecked in attempt- 
ing to cross the bar, and it still stands, a dismal witness of the 
destruction that has been, and a boding prophet of that which is 
to come. 

Emotions of Hon, Charles Augustus Murray (near St. 
Louis), seven years later : 

It is only when you ascend the mighty current for fifty or a 
hundred miles, and use the eye of imagination as well as that of 
nature, that you begin to understand all his might and majesty. 



You see him fertilizing a boundless valley, bearing along in his 
course the trophies of his thousand victories over the shattered 
forest — here carrying away large masses of soil with all their 
growth, and there forming islands destined at some future period 
to be the residence of man ; and while indulging in this pros- 
pect, it is then time for reflection to suggest that the current before 
you has flowed through two or three thousand miles, and has yet 
to travel one thousand three hundred more before reaching its ocean 
destination. 

Receive, now, the emotions of Captain Marryat, R. N., 
author of the sea tales, writing in 1837, three years after 
Mr. Murray : 

Never, perhaps, in the records of nations, was there an instance 
of a century of such unvarying and unmitigated crime as is to be 
collected from the history of the turbulent and blood-stained Miss- 
issippi. The stream itself appears as if appropriate for the deeds 
which have been committed. It is not like most rivers, beautiful 
to the sight, bestowing fertility in its course : not one that the 
eye loves to dwell upon as it sweeps along, nor can you wander 
upon its bank, or trust yourself without danger to its stream. It is 
a furious, rapid, desolating torrent, loaded with alluvial soil ; and 
few of those who are received into its waters ever rise again,* or 
can support themselves long upon its surface without assistance 
from some friendly log. It contains the coarsest and most uneat- 
able of fish, such as catfish and such genus, and as you descend, 
its banks are occupied with the fetid alligator, while the panther 
basks at its edge in the cane-brakes, almost impervious to man. 
Pouring its impetuous waters through wild tracks covered with trees 
of little value except for firewood, it sweeps down whole forests 
in its course, which disappear in tumultuous confusion, whirled 
away by the stream now loaded with the masses of soil which 
nourished their roots, often blocking up and changing for a time the 
channel of the river, which, as if in anger at its being opposed, in- 

* There was a foolish superstition of some little prevalence in that 
day, that the Mississippi v»'ould neither buoy up a swimmer nor permit a 
drowned person's body to rise to the surface. 



undates and devastates the whole country round ; and as soon as 
it forces its way through its former channel, plants in every direc- 
tion the uprooted monarchs of the forest (upon whose branches 
the bird will never again perch, or the raccoon, the opossum, or the 
squirrel climb) as traps to the adventurous navigators of its waters 
by steam, who, borne down by these concealed dangers which 
pierce through the planks, very often have not time to steer for and 
gain the shore before they sink to the bottom. There are no pleas- 
ing associations connected with the great common sewer of the 
Western America, which pours out its mud into the Mexican Gulf, 
polluting the clear blue sea for many miles beyond its mouth. It 
is a river of desolation ; and instead of reminding you, like other 
beautiful rivers, of an angel which has descended for the benefit of 
man, you imagine it a devil, whose energies have been only over- 
come by the wonderful power of steam. 

It is pretty crude literature for a man accustomed to 
handling a pen; still, as a panorama of the emotions sent 
weltering through this noted visitor's breast by the aspect 
and traditions of the "great common sewer," it has a 
value. A value, though marred in the matter of statistics 
by inaccuracies; for the catfish is a plenty good enough 
fish for any body, and there are no panthers that are 
'impervious to man." 

Later still comes Alexander Mackay, of the Middle 
Temple, Barrister at Law, with a better digestion, and no 
catfish dinner aboard, and feels as follows : 

The Mississippi ! It was with indescribable emotions that I 
first felt myself afloat upon its waters. How often in my school- 
boy dreams, and in my waking visions afterward, had my imagina- 
tion pictured to itself the lordly stream, rolling with tumultuous 
current through the boundless region to which it has given its 
name, and gathering into itself, in its course to the ocean, the 
tributary waters of almost every latitude in the temperate zone ! 
Here it was then in its reality, and I, at length, steaming against 
its tide. I looked upon it with that reverence with which every 
one must res^ard a great feature of external nature. 



202 



So much for the emotions. The tourists, one and all, 
remark upon the deep, brooding loneliness and desola- 
tion of the vast river. Captain Basil Hall, who saw it at 
flood-stage, says: 

Sometimes we passed along distances of twenty or thirty miles 
without seeing a single habitation. An artist, in search of hints 
for a painting of the deluge, would here have found them in abun- 
dance. 

The first shall be last, etc. Just two hundred years 
ago, the old original first and gallantest of all the foreign 
tourists, pioneer, head of the procession, ended his weary 
and tedious discovery voyage down the solemn stretches 
of the great river — La Salle, whose name will last as 
long as the river itself shall last. We quote from Mr. 
Parkman : 

And now they neared their journey's end. On the 6th of 
April, the river divided itself into three broad channels. La Salle 
followed that of the west, and D'Autray that of the east ; while 
Tonty took the middle passage. As he drifted down the turbid 
current, between the low and marshy shores, the brackish water 
changed to brine, and the breeze grew fresh with the salt breath 
of the sea. Then the broad bosom of the great Gulf opened on 
his sight, tossing its restless billows, limitless, voiceless, lonely as 
when born of chaos, without a sail, without a sign of life. 

Then, on a spot of solid ground. La Salle reared a 
column *' bearing the arms of France; the Frenchmen 
were mustered under arms; and while the New England 
Indians and their squaws looked on in wondering silence, 
they chanted the Te Deum, the Exaudiat^ and the Domine^ 
salvu?n fac regem. " 

Then, while the musketry volleyed and rejoicing shouts 
burst forth, the victorious discoverer planted the column, 
and made proclamation in a loud voice, taking formal 



203 



possession of the river and the vast countries watered 
by it, in the name of the King. The column bore this 
inscription : 

LOUIS LE GRAND, ROY DE FRANCE ET DE NAVARRE, 
REGNE; LE NEUVIEME AVRIL, 1682. 

New Orleans intended to fittingly celebrate, this pres- 
ent year, the bicentennial anniversary of this illustrious 
event; but when the time came, all her energies and 
surplus money were required in other directions, for the 
flood was upon the land then, making havoc and devasta- 
tion everywhere. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 
UNCLE MUMFORD UNLOADS 

All day we swung along down the river, and had the 
stream almost wholly to ourselves. Formerly, at such a 
stage of the water, we should have passed acres of lumber 
rafts, and dozens of big coal barges; also occasional little 
trading-scows, peddling along from farm to farm, with 
the pedler's family on board; possibly a random scow, 
bearing a humble Hamlet and Co. on an itinerant dramatic 
trip. But these were all absent. Far along in the day 
we saw one steamboat; just one, and no more. She was 
lying at rest in the shade, within the wooded mouth of 
the Obion River. The spy-glass revealed the fact that 
she was named for me — or he was named for me, which- 
ever you prefer. As this was the first time I had ever 
encountered this species of honor, it seems excusable to 
mention it, and at the same time call the attention of the 
authorities to the tardiness of my recognition of it. 

Noted a big change in the river at Island 21. It was 
a very large island,.and used to lie out toward mid-stream; 
but it is joined fast to the main shore now, and has retired 
from business as an island. 

As we apprbached famous and formidable Plum Point 
darkness fell, but that was nothing to shudder about — in 
these modern times. For now the national Government 
has turned the Mississippi into a sort of two thousand 
mile torch-light procession. In the head of every 
crossing, and in the foot of every crossing, the Govern- 
ment has set up a clear-burning lamp. You are never 
entirely in the dark, now; there is always a beacon in 



I 



205 



sight, either before you, or behind you, or abreast. One 
might almost say that lamps have been squandered there. 
Dozens of crossings are lighted which were not shoal 
when they were created, and have never been shoal since; 
crossings so plain, too, and also so straight, that a steam- 
boat can take herself through them without any help, 
after she has been through once. Lamps in such places 
are of course not wasted; it is much more convenient and 
comfortable for a pilot to hold on them than on a spread 
of formless blackness that won't stay still; and money is 
saved to the boat, at the same time, for she can of course 
make more miles with her rudder amidships than she can 
with it squared across her stern and holding her back. 

But this thing has knocked the romance out of piloting, 
to a large extent. It and some other things together 
have knocked all the romance out of it. For instance, 
the peril from snags is not now what it once was. The 
Government's snag-boats go patrolling up and down, 
in these matter-of-fact days, pulling the river's teeth; 
they have rooted out all the old clusters which made 
many localities so formidable; and they allow no new 
ones to collect. Formerly, if your boat got away from 
you, on a black night, and broke for the woods, it was an 
anxious time with you; so was it, also, when you were 
groping your way through solidified darkness in a narrow 
chute, but all that is changed now — you flash out your 
electric light, transform night into day in the twinkling 
of an eye, and your perils and anxieties are at an end. 
Horace Bixby and George Ritchie have charted the 
crossings and laid out the courses by compass; they have 
invented a lamp to go with the chart, and have patented 
the whole. With these helps, one may run in the fog now, 
with considerable security, and with a confidence un- 
known in the old days. 

With these abundant beacons, and the banishment of 



206 



snags, plenty of daylight in a box and ready to be turned 
on whenever needed, and a chart compass to fight the 
fog with, piloting, at a good stage of water, is now nearly 
as safe and simple as driving stage, and is hardly more 
than three times as romantic. 

And now, in these new days of infinite change, the 
Anchor Line have raised the captain above the pilot by 
giving him* the bigger w^ages of the two. This was going 
far, but they have not stopped there. They have decreed 
that the pilot shall remain at his post, and stand his 
watch clear through, whether the boat be under way or 
tied up to the shore. We, that were once the aristocrats 
of the river, can't go to bed now, as we used to do, and 
sleep while a hundred tons of freight are lugged aboard; 
no, we must sit in the pilot-house; and keep awake, too. 
Verily we are being treated like a parcel of mates and 
engineers. The Government has taken away the romance 
of our calling; the Company has taken away its state and 
dignity. 

Plum Point looked as it had always looked by. night, 
with the exception that now there were beacons to m.ark 
the crossings, and also a lot of other lights on the Point 
and along its shore; these latter glinting from the fleet of 
the United States River Commission, and from a village 
which the officials have built on the land for offices and 
for the employes of the service. The military engineers 
of the Commission have taken upon their shoulders the 
job of making the Mississippi over again — a job trans- 
cended in size by only the original job of creating it. 
They are building wing-dams here and there, to deflect 
the current; and dikes to confine it in narrower bounds; 
and other dikes to make it stay there; and for unnum- 
bered miles along the Mississippi they are felling the 
timber-front for fifty yards back, with the purpose of 
shaving the bank down to low-water mark with the slant 



% 



207 



of a house-roof, and ballasting it with stones; and in 
many places they have protected the wasting shores with 
rows of piles. One who knows the Mississippi will 
promptly aver — not aloud but to himself — that ten thou- 
sand River Commissions, with the mines of the world at 
their back, cannot tame that lawless stream, cannot curb it 
or confine it, cannot say to it, ''Go here," or ''Go there," 
and make it obey; cannot save a shore which it has 
sentenced; cannot bar its path with an obstruction which 
it will not tear down, dance over, and laugh at. But a 
discreet man will not put these things into spoken words; 
for the West Point engineers have not their superiors 
anywhere; they know all that can be known of their 
abstruse science; and so, since they conceive that they 
can fetter and handcuff that river and boss him, it is but 
wisdom for the unscientific man to keep still, lie low, and 
wait till they do it. Captain Eads, with his jetties, has 
done a work at the mouth of the Mississippi which 
seemed clearly impossible; so we do not feel full con- 
fidence now to prophesy against like impossibilities. 
Otherwise one would pipe out and say the Commission 
might as well bully the comets in their courses and 
undertake to make them behave, as try to bully the 
Mississippi into right and reasonable conduct. 

I consulted Uncle Mumford concerning this and 
cognate matters; and I give here the result, stenographi- 
cally reported, and therefore to be relied on as being full 
and correct; except that I have here and there left out 
remarks which wereaddressed to the men, such as " Where 
in blazes are you going with that barrel now?" and 
which seemed to me to break the flow of the written 
statement, without compensating by adding to its informa- 
tion or its clearness. Not that I have ventured to strike 
out all such interjections; I have removed only those 
which were obviously irrelevant; wherever one occurred 



2o8 



which I felt any question about, I have judged it safest 
to let it remain. 

UNCLE MUMFORD'S IMPRESSIONS. 

Uncle Mumford said : 

*' As long as I have been mate of a steamboat — thirty 
years — I have watched this river and studied it. Maybe 
I could have learned more about it at West Point, but if 
I believe it I wish I may beWHAT ai-e you sucking your 
fingers there for ? — Collar that kag of nails I Four years at 
West Point, and plenty of books and schooling, will learn 
a man a good deal, I reckon, but it won't learn him the 
river. You turn one of those little European rivers over 
to this Commission, with its hard bottom and clear water, 
and it would just be a holiday job for them to wall it, and 
pile it, and dike it, and tame it down, and boss it around, 
and make it go wherever they wanted it to, and stay 
where they put it, and do just as they said, every time. 
But this ain't that kind of a river. They have started in 
here with big confidence, and the best intentions in the 
world; but they are going to get left. What does Eccle- 
siastes vii. 13 say ? Says enough to knock their little 
game galley-west, don't it ? Now you look at their 
methods once. There at Devil's Island, in the Upper 
River, they wanted the water to go one way, the water 
wanted to go another. So they put up a stone wall. But 
what does the river care for a stone wall ? When it got 
ready, it just bulged through it. Maybe they can build 
another that will stay; that is, up there — but not down 
here they can't. Down here in the Lower River, they 
drive some pegs to turn the water away from the shore 
and stop it from slicing off the bank; very well, don't it go 
straight over and cut somebody else's bank ? Certainly. 
Are they going to peg all the banks ? Why, they could 
buy ground and build a new Mississippi cheaper. They 



209 



are pegging Bulletin Tow-head now. It won't do any- 
good. If the river has got a mortgage on that island, 
it will foreclose, sure; pegs or no pegs. Away down 
yonder, they have driven two rows of piles straight 
through the middle of a dry bar half a mile long, which 
is forty foot out of the water when the river is low. 
What do you reckon that is for ? If I know, I wish 
I may land inHUMP yourself, you son of an under- 
taker I — out with that coal-oil, tiow, lively, lively ! And 
just look at what they are trying to do down there at 
Milliken's Bend. There's been a cut-off in that section, 
and Vicksburg is left out in the cold. It's a country 
town now. The river strikes in below it; and a boat 
can't go up to the town except in high water. Well, they 
are going to build wing-dams in the bend opposite the 
foot of 103, and throw the water over and cut off the 
foot of the island and plough down into an old ditch where 
the river used to be in ancient times; and they think they 
can persuade the water around that way, and get it to 
strike in above Vicksburg, as it used to do, and fetch the 
town back into the world again. That is, they are going 
to take this whole Mississippi, and twist it around and 
make it run several miles /// stream. Well, you've got to 
admire men that deal in ideas of that size and can tote 
them around without crutches; but you haven't got to 
believe they can do such miracles, have you ? And yet 
you ain't absolutely obliged to believe they can't. I 
reckon the safe way, where a man can afford it, is to 
copper the operation, and at the same time buy enough 
property in Vicksburg to square you up in case they win. 
Government is doing a deal for the Mississippi, now — 
spending loads of money on her. When there used to be 
four thousand steamboats and ten thousand acres of coal- 
barges, and rafts, and trading-scows, there wasn't a lantern 
from St. Paul to New Orleans, and the snags were thicker 
14 



than bristles on a hog's back; and now, when there's three 
dozen steamboats and nary barge or raft, Government 
has snatched out all the snags, and lit up the shores like 
Broadway, and a boat's as safe on the river as she'd be in 
heaven. And I reckon that by the time there ain't any 
boats left at all, the Commission will have the old thing 
all reorganized, and dredged out, and fenced in, and 
tidied up, to a degree that will make navigation just 
simply perfect, and absolutely safe and profitable; and 
all the days will be Sundays, and all the mates will be 
Sunday-school ^\\^Y{.h.T-in-the-nation-you-foolmg-around- 
there-for^ you sons of unrighteousness, heirs of perdition ! 
Going to be a Y'E.A'R. getting that hogshead ashore .?" 

During our trip to New Orleans and back, we had 
many conversations with river men, planters, journalists, 
and officers of the River Commission — with conflicting 
and confusing results. To wit: 

1. Some believed in the Commission's scheme to arbi- 
trarily and permanently confine (and thus deepen) the 
channel, preserve threatened shores, etc. 

2. Some believed that the Commission's money ought 
to be spent only on building and repairing the great 
system of levees. 

3. Some believed that the higher you build your levee, 
the higher the river's bottom will rise; and that conse- 
quently the levee system is a mistake. 

4. Some believed in the scheme to relieve the river, in 
flood-time, by turning its surplus waters off into Lake 
Borgne, etc. 

5. Some believed in the scheme of northern lake- 
reservoirs to replenish the Mississippi in low-water 
seasons. 

Whenever you find a man down there who believes in 
one of these theories you may turn to the next man and 



frame your talk upon the hypothesis that he does not 
believe in that theory; and after you have had experience, 
you do not take this course doubtfully or hesitatingly, 
but with the confidence of a dying murderer — converted 
one, I mean. For you will have come to know, with a 
deep and restful certainty, that you are not going to 
meet two people sick of the same theory, one right after 
the other. No, there will always be one or two* with the 
other diseases along between. And as you proceed, you 
will find out one or two other things. You will find out 
that there is no distemper of the lot but is contagious; 
and you cannot go where it is without catching it. You 
may vaccinate yourself with deterrent facts as much as 
you please — it will do no good; it will seem to "take," 
but it doesn't; the moment you rub against any one of 
those theorists, make up your mind that it is time to 
hang out your yellow flag. 

Yes, you are his sure victim: yet his work is not all to 
your hurt — only part of it; for he is like your family 
physician, who comes and cures the mumps, and leaves 
the scarlet fever behind. If your man is a Lake-Borgne- 
relief theorist, for instance, he will exhale a cloud of 
deadly facts and statistics which will lay you out with 
that disease, sure; but at the same time he will cure you 
of any other of the five theories that may have previously 
got into your system. 

I have had all the five; and had them *'bad"; but ask 
me not, in mournful numbers, which one racked me 
hardest, or which one numbered the biggest sick list, for 
I do not know. In truth, no one can answer the latter 
question. Mississippi Improvement is a mighty topic, 
down yonder. Every man on the river banks, south of 
Cairo, talks about it every day, during such moments as 
he is able to spare from talking about the war; and each 
of the several chief theories has its host of zealous par- 



212 



tisans; but, as I have said, it is not possible to determine 
which cause numbers the most recruits. 

All were agreed upon one point, however: if Congress 
would make a sufficient appropriation, a colossal benefit 
would result. Very well; since then the appropriation 
has been made — possibly a sufficient one, certainly not 
too large a one. Let us hope that the prophecy will be 
amply fulfilled. 

One thing will be easily granted by the reader: that 
an opinion from Mr. Edward Atkinson, upon any vast 
national commercial matter, comes as near ranking as 
authority as can the opinion of any individual in the 
Union. What he has to say about Mississippi River 
Improvement will be found in the Appendix.* 

Sometimes half a dozen figures will reveal, as with a 
lightning-flash, the importance of a subject which ten 
thousand labored words, with the same purpose in 
view, had left at last but dim and uncertain. Here 
is a case of the sort — paragraph from the Cincinnati 
Commercial : 

The towboat y^'j'. B. Williams is on her way to New Orleans 
with a tow of thirty-two barges, containing six hundred thousand 
bushels (seventy-six pounds to the bushel) of coal exclusive of her 
own fuel, being the largest tow ever taken to New Orleans or any- 
where else in the world. Her freight bill, at 3 cents a bushel, 
amounts to $18,000. It would take eighteen hundred cars, of 
three hundred and thirty-three bushels to the car, to transport this 
amount of coal. At $10 per ton, or $100 per car, which would be 
a fair price for the distance by rail, the freight bill would amount 
to $180,000, or $162,000 more by rail than by river. The tow will 
be taken from Pittsburg to New Orleans in fourteen or fifteen 
days. It would take one hundred trains of eighteen cars to the 
train to transport this one tow of six hundred thousand bushels 
of coal, and even if it made the usual speed of fast freight lines, 
it would take one whole summer to put it through by rail. 

* See Appendix B. 



213 



When a river in good condition can enable one to save 
$162,000, and a whole summer's time, on a single cargo, 
the wisdom of taking measures to keep the river in 
good condition is made plain to even the uncommercial 
mind. 



CHAPTER XXT.X 
A FEW SPECIMEN BRICKS 

We passed through the Plum Point region, turned 
Craig-head's Point, and glided unchallenged by what was 
once the formidable Fort Pillow, memorable because of 
the massacre perpetrated there during the war. Mas- 
sacres are sprinkled with some frequency through the 
histories of several Christian nations, but this is almost 
the only one that can be found in American history; per- 
haps it is the only one which rises to a size correspondent 
to that huge and sombre title. We have the '^ Boston 
Massacre," where two or three people were killed; but 
we must bunch Anglo-Saxon history together to find the 
fellow to the Fort Pillow tragedy; and doubtless even 
then we must travel back to the days and the perform- 
ances of Coeur de Lion, that fine "hero," before we 
accomplish it. 

More of the river's freaks. In times past the channel 
used to strike above Island 37, by Brandywine Bar, and 
down toward Island 39. Afterward changed its course 
and went from Brandywine down through Vogelman's 
chute in the Devil's Elbow, to Island 39 — part of this 
course reversing the old order; the river running ttp four 
or five miles, instead of down, and cutting off, through- 
out, some fifteen miles of distance. This in 1876. All 
that region is now called Centennial Island. 

There is a tradition that Island 37 was one of the 
principal abiding places of the once celebrated '' Murel's 
Gang." This was a colossal combination of robbers, 
horse-thieves, negro-stealers, and counterfeiters, engaged 



215 



in business along the river some fifty or sixty years ago. 
While our journey across the country toward St. Louis 
was in progress we had had no end of Jesse James and 
his stirring history; for he had just been assassinated by 
an agent of the Governor of Missouri, and was in con- 
sequence occupying a good deal of space in the news- 
papers. Cheap histories of him were for sale by train 
boys. According to these, he was the most marvellous 
creature of his kind that had ever existed. It was a mis- 
take. Murel was his equal in boldness, in pluck, in 
rapacity; in cruelty, brutality, heartlessness, treachery, 
and in general and comprehensive vileness and shameless- 
ness; and very much his superior in some larger aspects. 
James was a retail rascal ; Murel, wholesale. James's 
modest genius dreamed of no loftier flight than the plan- 
ning of raids upon cars, coaches, and country banks. 
Murel projected negro insurrections and the capture of 
New Orleans; and furthermore, on occasion, this Murel 
could go into a pulpit and edify the congregation. What 
are James and his half dozen vulgar rascals compared 
with this stately old-time criminal, with his sermons, 
his meditated insurrections and city-captures, and his 
majestic following of ten hundred men, sworn to do his 
evil will ! 

Here is a paragraph or two concerning this big operator, 
from a now forgotten book which was published half a 
century ago: 

He appears to have been a most dexterous as well as consum- 
mate villain. When he travelled, his usual disguise was that of an 
itinerant preacher ; and it is said that his discourses were very 
"soul-moving" — interesting the hearers so much that they forgot 
to look after their horses, which were carried away by his confede- 
rates while he was preaching. But the stealing of horses in one 
State, and selling them in another, was but a small portion of their 
business ; the most lucrative was the enticing slaves to run away 



2l6 



from their masters, that they might sell them in another quarter. 
This was arranged as follows : they would tell a negro that if he 
would run away from his master, and allow them to sell him, he 
should receive a portion of the money paid for him, and that upon 
his return to them a second time they would send him to a free 
State, where he would be safe. The poor wretches complied with 
this request, hoping to obtain money and freedom ; they would be 
sold to another master, and run away again to their employers ; 
sometimes tiiey would be sold in this manner three or four times, 
until they had realized three or four thousand dollars by them ; but 
as, after this, there was fear of detection, the usual custom was to 
get rid of the only witness that could be produced against them, 
which was the negro himself, by murdering him, and throwing his 
body into the Mississippi. Even if it was established that they had 
stolen a negro, before he was murdered, they were always prepared 
to evade punishment ; for they concealed the negro who had run 
away, until he was advertised, and a reward offered to any man 
who would catch him. An advertisement of this kind warrants 
the person to take the property, if found. And then the negro 
becames a property in trust ; when, therefore, they sold the negro, 
it only became a breach of trust, not stealing ; and for a breach of 
trust the owner of the property can only have redress by a civil 
action, which was useless, as the damages were never paid. It 
may be enquired, how it was that Murel escaped Lynch law under 
such circumstances. This will be easily understood when it is 
stated that he had more than a thousand s'wor7i confederates, all 
ready at a moment's notice to support any of the gang who might 
be in trouble. The names of all the principal confederates of 
Murel were obtained from himself, in a manner which I shall pres 
ently explain. The gang was composed of two classes : the Heads 
or Council, as they were called, who planned and concerted, but 
seldom acted ; they amounted to about four hundred. The other 
class were the active agents, and were termed strikers, and 
amounted to about six hundred and fifty. These were the tools in 
the hands of the others; they ran all the risk, and received but a 
small portion of the money ; they were in the power of the leaders 
of the gang, who would sacrifice them at any time by handing 
them over to justice, or sinking their bodies in the Mississippi. 
The general rendezvous of this gang of miscreants was on the 



217 



Arkansas side of the river, where they concealed their negroes in 
the morasses and cane-brakes. 

The depredations of this extensive combination were severely felt ; 
but so well were their plans arranged that, although Murel, who 
was always active, was everywhere suspected, there was no proof 
to be obtained. It so happened, however, that a young man of the 
name of Stewart, who was looking after two slaves which Murel 
had decoyed away, fell in with him and obtained his confidence, 
took the oath, and was admitted into the gang as one of the 
General Council. By this means all was discovered ; for Stewart 
turned traitor, although he had taken the oath, and having obtained 
every information, exposed the whole concern, the names of all the 
parties, and finally succeeded in bringing home sufficient evidence 
against Murel to procure his conviction and sentence to the Peni- 
tentiary (Murel was sentenced to fourteen years' imprisonment). 
So many people who v/ere supposed to be honest, and bore a 
respectable name in the different States, were found to be among 
the list of the Grand Council as published by Stewart, that every 
attempt was made to throw discredit upon his assertions — his 
character was vilified, and more than one attempt was made to 
assassinate him. He was obliged to quit the Southern States in 
consequence. It is, however, now well ascertained to have been 
all true ; and although some blame Mr. Stewart for having violated 
his oath, they no longer attempt to deny that his revelations were 
correct. I will quote one or two portions of Murel's confessions to 
Mr. Stewart, made to him when they were journeying together. 
I ought to have observed that the ultimate intentions of Murel and 
his associates were, by his own account, on a very extended scale ; 
having no less an object in view than 7'aising the blacks against 
the whites, taking possession of, and plundering New Orleans, 
and making themselves possessors of the territory. The following 
are a few extracts : 

" I collected all my friends about New Orleans at one of our 
friends' houses in that place, and we sat in council three days 
before we got all our plans to our notion ; we tlien determined to 
undertake the rebellion at every hazard, and make as many friends 
as we could for that purpose. Every man's business being assigned 
him, I started to Natchez on foot, having sold my horse in New 
Orleans — with the intention of stealing another after I started. I 



2l8 



walked four days, and no opportunity offered for me to get a horse. 
The fifth day, about twelve, I had become tired, and stopped at a 
creek to get some water and rest a little. While I was sitting on 
a log, looking down the road the way that I had come, a man 
came in sight, riding on a good-looking horse. The very moment 
I saw him, I was determined to have his horse, if he was in the 
garb of a traveller. He rode up, and I saw from his equipage that 
he was a traveller. I rose and drew an elegant rifle pistol on him 
and ordered him to dismount. He did so, and I took his horse by 
the bridle and pointed down the creek, and ordered him to walk 
before me. He went a few hundred yards and stopped. I hitched 
his horse, and then made him undress himself, all to his shirt and 
drawers, and ordered him to turn his back to me. He said, ' If 
you are determined to kill me, let me have time to pray before I 
die.' I told him I had no time to hear him pray. He turned 
around and dropped on his knees, and I shot him through the back 
of the head. I ripped open his belly, and took out his entrails and 
sunk him in the creek. I then searched his pockets, and found 
four hundred dollars and thirty-seven cents, and a number of 
papers that I did not take time to examine. I sunk the pocket- 
book and papers and his hat, in the creek. His boots were brand- 
new, and fitted me genteelly ; and I put them on and sunk my old 
shoes in the creek, to atone for them. I roiled up his clothes and 
put them into his portmanteau, as they were brand-new cloth of the 
best quality. I mounted as fine a horse as ever I straddled, and 
directed my course for Natchez in much better style than I had 
been for the last five days. 

" Myself and a fellow by the name of Crenshaw gathered four 
good horses and started for Georgia. We got in company with a 
young South Carolinian just before we got to Cumberland Moun- 
tain, and Crenshaw soon knew all about his business. He had 
been to Tennessee to buy a drove of hogs, but when he got there 
pork was dearer than he calculated, and he declined purchasing. 
We concluded he was a prize. Crenshaw winked at me ; I under- 
stood his idea. Crenshaw had travelled the road before, but I never 
had ; we had travelled several miles on the mountain, when we 
passed near a great precipice ; just before we passed it Crenshaw 
asked me for my whip, which had a pound of lead in the butt ; I 
handed it to him, and he rode up by the side of the South Caro- • 



219 



linian, and gave him a blow on the side of the head and tumbled 
him from his horse ; we lit from our horses and fingered his 
pockets ; we got twelve hundred and sixty-two dollars. Crenshaw 
said he knew a place to hide him, and he gathered him under his 
arms, and I by his feet, and conveyed him to a deep crevice in the 
brow of the pricipice, and tumbled him into it, and he went out of 
sight ; we then tumbled in his saddle, and took his horse with us, 
which was worth two hundred dollars. 

" We were detained a few days, and during that time our friend 
went to a little village in the neighborhood and saw the negro 
advertised (a negro in our possession), and a description of the 
two men of whom he had been purchased, and giving his sus- 
picions of the men. It was rather squally times, but any port in a 
storm ; we took the negro that night on the bank of a creek which 
runs by the farm of our friend, and Crenshaw shot him through 
the head. We took out his entrails and sunk him in the creek. 

" He had sold the other negro the third time on Arkansaw River 
for upward of five hundred dollars ; and then stole him and de- 
livered him into the hand of his friend, who conducted him to a 
swamp, and veiled the tragic scene, and got the last gleanings and 
sacred pledge of secrecy ; as a game of that kind will not do unless 
it ends in a mystery to all but the fraternity. He sold the negro, 
first and last, for nearly two thousand dollars, and then put him 
forever out of the reach of all pursuers ; and they can never graze 
him unless they can find the negro ; and that they cannot do, for 
his carcass has fed many a tortoise and catfish before this time, 
and the frogs have sung this many a long day to the silent repose 
of his skeleton." 

We were approaching Memphis, in front of which city, 
and witnessed by its people, was fought the most famous 
of the river battles of the Civil War. Two men whom I 
had served under, in my river days, took part in that 
fight: Mr. Bixby, head pilot of the Union fleet, and 
Montgomery, Commodore of the Confederate fleet. Both 
saw a great deal of active service during the war, and 
achieved high reputations for pluck and capacity. 

As we neared Memphis, we began to cast about for an 



excuse to stay with the Gold Dust to the end of her 
course — Vicksburg. We were so pleasantly situated that 
we did not wish to make a change. I had an errand 
of considerable importance to do at Napoleon, Ark., but 
perhaps I could manage it without quitting the Gold Dust, 
I said as much ; so we decided to stick to present quarters. 

The boat was to tarry at Memphis till ten the next 
morning. It is a beautiful city, nobly situated on a com- 
manding bluff overlooking the river. The streets are 
straight and spacious, though not paved in a way to incite 
distempered admiration. No, the admiration must be re- 
served for the town's sewerage system, which is called 
perfect; a recent reform, however, for it was just the 
other way up to a few years ago — a reform resulting from 
the lesson taught by a desolating visitation of the yellow 
fever. In those awful days the people were swept off by 
hundreds, by thousands; and so great was the reduction 
caused by flight and by death together, that the popula- 
tion was diminished three-fourths, and so remained for a 
time. Business stood nearly still, and the streets bore an 
empty Sunday aspect. 

Here is a picture of Memphis, at that disastrous time, 
drawn by a German tourist who seems to have been 
an eye-witness of the scenes which he describes. It is 
from chapter vii. of his book, just published in Leipzig, 
** Mississippi-Fahrten," von Ernst von Hesse-Wartegg : 

In August the yellow fever had reached its extremes! height. 
Daily, hundreds fell a sacrifice to the terrible epidemic. The city 
was become a mighty graveyard, two-thirds of the population had 
deserted the place, and only the poor, the aged, and the sick re- 
mained behind, a sure prey for the insidious enemy. The houses 
were closed : little lamps burned in front of many — a sign that 
here death had entered. Often several lay dead in a single house ; 
from the windows hung black crape. The stores were shut up, 
for their owners were gone away or dead. 



Fearful evil ! In the briefest space it struck down and swept 
away even the most vigorous victim. A shght indisposition, then 
an hour of fever, then the hideous dehriuni, then — the Yellow 
Death ! On the street corners, and in the squares, lay sick men, 
suddenly overtaken by the disease ; and even corpses, distorted 
and rigid. Food failed. Meat spoiled in a few hours in the foetid 
and pestiferous air, and turned black. 

Fearful clamors issue from many houses ! Then after a season 
they cease, and all is still ; noble, self-sacrificing men come wath 
the coffin, nail it up, and carry it away to the graveyard. In the 
night stillness reigns. Only the physicians and the hearses hurry 
through the streets ; and out of the distance, at intervals, comes 
the muffled thunder of the railway train, which with the speed of 
the wind, as if hunted by furies, flies by the pest-ridden city with- 
out halting. 

But there is life enough there now. The population 
exceeds forty thousand and is augmenting, and trade is 
in a flourishing condition. We drove about the city; 
visited the park and the sociable horde of squirrels there; 
saw the fine residences, rose-clad and in other ways en- 
ticing to the eye; and got a good breakfast at the hotel. 

A thriving place is the Good Samaritan City of the 
Mississippi: has a great wholesale jobbing trade; foun- 
dries, machine shops, and manufactories of wagons, car- 
riages, and cotton-seed oil; and is shortly to have cotton- 
mills and elevators. 

Her cotton receipts reached five hundred thousand 
bales last year — an increase of sixty thousand over the 
year before. Out from her healthy commercial heart 
issue five trunk lines of railway; and a sixth is being 
added. 

This is a very different Memphis from the one which 
the vanished and unremembered procession of foreign 
tourists used to put into their books long time ago. In 
the days of the now forgotten but once renowned and 
vigorously hated Mrs. Trollope, Memphis seems to have 



consisted mainjy of one long street of log-houses, with 
some outlying cabins sprinkled around rearward toward 
the woods; and now and then a pig, and no end of mud. 
That was fifty-five years ago. She stopped at the hotel. 
Plainly it was not the one which gave us our breakfast. 
She says : 

The table was laid for fifty persons, and was nearly full. They 
ate in perfect silence, and with such astonishing rapidity that their 
dinner was over literally before ours was begun ; the only sounds 
heard were those produced by the knives and forks, with the 
unceasing chorus of coughing, etc. 

*' Coughing, etc.'' The *'etc." stands for an unpleas- 
ant word there, a word which she does not always charit- 
ably cover up, but sometimes prints. You will find it in 
the following description of a steamboat dinner which she 
ate in company with a lot of aristocratic planters; wealthy, 
well-born, ignorant swells they were, tinselled with the 
usual harmless military and judicial titles of that old day 
of cheap shams and windy pretence : 

The total want of all the usual courtesies of the table ; the vo- 
racious rapidity with which the viands were seized and devoured ; 
the strange uncouth phrases and pronunciation ; the loathsome 
spitting, from the contamination of which it was absolutely impos- 
sible to protect our dresses ; the frightful manner of feeding with 
their knives, till the whole blade seemed to enter into the mouth ; 
and the still more frightful manner of cleaning the teeth afterward 
with a pocket knife, soon forced us to feel that we Vv'ere not sur- 
rounded by the generals, colonels, and majors of the Old World ; 
and that the dinner hour was to be any thing rather than an hour 
of enjoyment. 



CHAPTER XXX 
SKETCHES BY THE WAY 

It was a big river, below Memphis; banks brimming 
full, everywhere, and very frequently more than full, the 
waters pouring out over the land, flooding the woods and 
fields for miles into the interior; and in places to a depth 
of fifteen feet; signs all about of men's hard work gone to 
ruin, and all to be done over again, with straitened means 
and a weakened courage. A melancholy picture, and a 
continuous one; hundreds of miles of it. Sometimes the 
beacon lights stood in water three feet deep, in the edge 
of dense forests which extended for miles without farm, 
wood-yard, clearing, or break of any kind; which meant 
that the keeper of the light must come in a skiff a great 
distance to discharge his trust — and often in desperate 
weather. Yet I was told that the work is faithfully per- 
formed, in all weathers; and not always by men — some- 
times by women, if the man is sick or absent. The 
Government furnishes oil, and pays ten or fifteen dollars 
a month for the lighting and tending. A Government 
boat distributes oil and pays wages once a month. 

The Ship Island region was as woodsy and tenantless as 
ever. The island has ceased to be an island; has joined 
itself compactly to the main shore, and wagons travel 
now where the steamboats used to navigate. No signs 
left of the wreck of the Pennsylvania. Some farmer 
will turn up her bones with his plough one day, no doubt, 
and be surprised. 

We were getting down now into the migrating negro 
region. These poor people could never travel when they 



224 



were slaves; so they make up for the privation now. 
They stay on a plantation till the desire to travel seizes 
them; then they pack up, hail a steamboat, and clear out. 
Not for any particular place; no, nearly any place will 
answer; they only want to be moving. The amount of 
money on hand will answer the rest of the conundrum for 
them. If it will take them fifty miles, very well; let it be 
fifty. If not, a shorter flight will do. 

During a couple of days we frequently answered these 
hails. Sometimes there was a group of high-water- 
stained, tumble-down cabins, populous with colored folk, 
and no whites visible; with grassless patches of dry 
ground here and there; a few felled trees, with skeleton 
cattle, mules, and horses, eating the leaves and gnawing 
the bark — no other food for them in the flood-wasted 
land. Sometimes there was a single lonely landing- 
cabin; near it the colored family that had hailed us; 
little and big, old and young, roosting on the scant pile 
of household goods; these consisting of a rusty gun, 
some bedticks, chests, tinware, stools, a crippled looking- 
glass, a venerable arm-chair, and six or eight base-born 
and spiritless yellow curs, attached to the family by 
strings. They must have their dogs; can't go without 
their dogs. Yet the dogs are never willing; they always 
object; so, one after another, in ridiculous procession, 
they are dragged aboard; all four feet braced and sliding 
along the stage, head likely to be pulled off; but the 
tugger marching determinedly forward, bending to his 
work, with the rope over his shoulder for better purchase. 
Sometimes a child is forgotten and left on the bank; but 
never a dog. 

The usual river-gossip going on in the pilot-house. 
Island No. 6t, — an island with a lovely ''chute," or pas- 
sage, behind it in the former times. They said Jesse 
Jamieson, in the Skylark, had a visiting pilot with him one 



225 



trip — a poor old broken-down, superannuated fellow — 
left him at the wheel, at the foot of 6;^, to run off the 
watch. The ancient mariner went up through the chute, 
and down the river outside; and up the chute and down 
the river again; and yet again and again; and handed 
the boat over to the relieving pilot, at the end of three 
hours of honest endeavor, at the same old foot of the 
island where he had originally taken the wheel ! A 
darky on shore who had observed the boat go by, about 
thirteen times, said, " ' 'clar to gracious, I wouldn't be 
s'prised if dey's a whole line o' dem Skylarks ! " 

Anecdote illustrative of influence of reputation in the 
changing of opinion. The Eclipse was renowned for her 
swiftness. One day she passed along; an old darky on 
shore, absorbed in his own matters, did not notice what 
steamer it was. Presently some one asked : 

"Any boat gone up ?" 

"Yes, sah." 

" Was she going fast ? " 

"Oh, so-so— loafin' along." 

" Now, do you know what boat that was ? " 

"No, sah." 

"Why, uncle, that was the Eclipse.''' 

" No ! Is dat so ? Well, I bet it was — cause she jes' 
went by here Si-spa?'klin !" 

Piece of history illustrative of the violent style of some 
of the people down along here. During the early weeks of 
high water, A.'s fence rails washed down on B.'s ground, 
and B.'s rails washed up in the eddy and landed on A.'s 
ground. A. said, "Let the thing remain so; I will use 
your rails, and you use mine. " But B. objected — wouldn't 
have it so. One day, A. came down on B.'s grounds to 
get his rails. B. said, "I'll kill you!" and proceeded 
for him with his revolver. A. said, " I'm not armed." 
So B., who wished to do only what was right, threw down 
15 



220 



his revolver; then pulled a knife, and cut A. s throat 
all around, but gave his principal attention to the front, 
and so failed to sever the jugular. Struggling around, 
A. managed to get his hands on the discarded revolver, 
and shot B. dead with it — and recovered from his own 
injuries. 

Further gossip; after which, every-body went below to 
get afternoon coffee, and left me at the wheel, alone. 
Something presently reminded me of our last hour in St. 
Louis, part of which I spent on this boat's hurricane 
deck, aft. I was joined there by a stranger, who dropped 
into conversation with me — a brisk young fellow, who 
said he was born in a town in the interior of Wisconsin, 
and had never seen a steamboat until a week before. 
Also said that on the way down from La Crosse he 
had inspected and examined his boat so diligently and 
with such passionate interest that he had mastered the 
whole thing from stem to rudder-blade. Asked me where 
I was from. I answered, "New England." '*Oh, a 
Yank ! " said he; and went chatting straight along, with- 
out waiting for assent or denial. He immediately pro- 
posed to take me all over the boat and tell me the names 
of her different parts, and teach me their uses. Before I 
could enter protest or excuse, he was already rattling 
glibly away at his benevolent work ; and when I perceived 
that he was misnaming the things, and inhospitably 
amusing himself at the expense of an innocent stranger 
from a far country, I held my peace and let him have his 
way. He gave me a world of misinformation; and the 
further he went, the wider his imagination expanded, and 
the more he enjoyed his cruel work of deceit. Some- 
times, after palming off a particularly fantastic and out- 
rageous lie upon me, he was so " full of laugh " that he 
had to step aside for a minute, upon one pretext or 
another, to keep me from suspecting. I stayed faithfully 



227 



by him until his comedy was finished. Then he remarked 
that he had undertaken to '* learn " me all about a steam- 
boat, and had done it; but that if he had overlooked 
any thing, just ask him and he would supply the lack. 
*' Any thing about this boat that you don't know the name 
of or the purpose of, you come to me and I'll tell you." 
I said I would, and took my departure, disappeared, and 
approached him from another quarter, whence he could 
not see me. There he sat, all alone, doubling himself up 
and writhing this way and that, in the throes of unappeas- 
able laughter. He must have made himself sick; for 
he was not publicly visible afterward for several days. 
Meantime, the episode dropped out of my mind. 

The thing that reminded me of it now, when I was alone 
at the wheel, was the spectacle of this young fellow stand- 
ing in the pilot-house door, with the knob in his hand, 
silently and severely inspecting me. I don't know when 
I have seen any body look so injured as he did. He 
did not say any thing — simply stood there and looked; 
reproachfully looked and pondered. Finally he shut the 
door and started away: halted on the texas a minute; 
came slowly back and stood in the door again, with that 
grieved look on his face; gazed upon me a while in meek 
rebuke, then said : 

''You let me learn you all about a steamboat, didnt 
you ? " 

" Yes,'* I confessed. 

" Yes, you did — didnt you ?" 

"Yes." 

" You are the feller that— that " 

Language failed. Pause — impotent struggle for further 
words — then he gave it up, choked out a deep, strong 
oath, and departed for good. Afterward I saw him 
several times below during the trip; but he was cold — 
would not look at me. Idiot ! if he had not been in such 



228 



a sweat to play his witless, practical joke upon me, in the 
beginning, I would have persuaded his thoughts into 
some other direction, and saved him from committing 
that wanton and siUy impoliteness. 

I had myself called with the four o'clock watch, morn- 
ings, for one cannot see too many summer sunrises on 
the Mississippi. They are enchanting. First, there is 
the eloquence of silence; for a deep hush broods every- 
where. Next, there is the haunting sense of loneliness, 
isolation, remoteness from the worry and bustle of the 
world. The dawn creeps in stealthily; the solid walls of 
black forest soften to gray, and vast stretches of the river 
open up and reveal themselves; the water is glass-smooth, 
gives off spectral little wreaths of white mist, there is not 
the faintest breath of wind, nor stir of leaf; the tran- 
quillity is profound and infinitely satisfying. Then a bird 
pipes up, another follows, and soon the pipings develop 
into a jubilant riot of music. You see none of the birds; 
you simply move through an atmosphere of song which 
seems to sing itself. When the light has become a little 
stronger, you have one of the fairest and softest pictures 
imaginable. You have the intense green of the massed 
and crowded foliage near by; you see it paling shade by 
shade in front of you; upon the next projecting cape, a 
mile off or more, the tint has lightened to the tender 
young green of spring; the cape beyond that one has 
almost lost color, and the furthest one, miles away under 
the horizon, sleeps upon the water a mere dim vapor, 
and hardly separable from the sky above it and about it. 
And all this stretch of river is a mirror, and you have 
the shadowy reflections of the leafage and the curving 
shores and the receding capes pictured in it. Well, that 
is all beautiful; soft and rich and beautiful; and when 
the sun gets well up, and distributes a pink flush here and 
a powder of gold yonder and a purple haze where it will 



229 



yield the best effect, you grant that you have seen some- 
thing that is worth remembering. 

We had the Kentucky Bend country in the early morn- 
ing — scene of a strange and tragic accident in the old 
times. Captain Poe had a small stern-wheel boat, for 
years the home of himself and his wife. One night the 
boat struck a snag in the head of Kentucky Bend, and 
sank with astonishing suddenness ; water already well 
above the cabin floor when the captain got aft. So he 
cut into his wife's stateroom from above with an axe; she 
was asleep in the upper berth, the roof a flimsier one than 
was supposed; the first blow crashed down through the 
rotten boards and clove her skull. 

This bend is all filled up now — result of a cut-off; and 
the same agent has taken the great and once much- 
frequented Walnut Bend, and set it away back in a soli- 
tude far from the accustomed track of passing steamers. 

Helena we visited, and also a town I had not heard of 
before, it being of recent birth — Arkansas City. It was 
born of a railway; the Little Rock, Mississippi River, and 
Texas Railroad touches the river there. We asked a 
passenger who belonged there what sort of a place it was. 
*' Well," said he, after considering, and with the air of one 

who wishes to take time and be accurate, ''it's a h 1 

of a place." A description which was photographic for 
exactness. There were several rows and clusters of 
shabby frame houses, and a supply of mud sufficient to 
insure the town against a famine in that article for a 
hundred years; for the overflow had but lately subsided. 
There were stagnant ponds in the streets, here and there, 
and a dozen rude scows were scattered about, lying 
aground wherever they happened to have been when the 
waters drained off and people could do their visiting and 
shopping on foot once more. Still, it is a thriving place, 
with a rich country behind it, an elevator in front of it, 



230 



and also a fine big mill for the manufacture of cotton- 
seed oil. I had never seen this kind of a mill before. 

Cotton-seed was comparatively valueless in my time; 
but it is worth twelve or thirteen dollars a ton now, and 
none of it is thrown away. The oil made from it is color- 
less, tasteless, and almost, if not entirely, odorless. It is 
claimed that it can, by proper manipulation, be made to 
resemble and perform the ofifice of any and all oils, and 
be produced at a cheaper rate than the cheapest of the 
originals. Sagacious people shipped it to Italy, doctored 
it, labelled it, and brought it back as olive oil. This 
trade grew to be so formidable that Italy was obliged to 
put a prohibitory impost upon it to keep it from working 
serious injury to her oil industry. 

Helena occupies one of the prettiest situations on the 
Mississippi. Her perch is the last, the southernmost 
group of hills which one sees on that side of the river. 
In its normal condition it is a pretty town; but the flood 
(or possibly the seepage) had lately been ravaging it; 
whole streets of houses had been invaded by the muddy 
water, and the outsides of the buildings were still belted 
with a broad stain extending upward from the founda- 
tions. Stranded and discarded scows lay all about; plank 
sidewalks on stilts four feet high were still standing; the 
board sidewalks on the ground level were loose and 
ruinous — a couple of men trotting along them could 
make a blind man think a cavalry charge was coming; 
everywhere the mud was black and deep, and in many 
places malarious pools of stagnant water were standing. 
A Mississippi inundation is the next most wasting and 
desolating infliction to a fire. 

We had an enjoyable time here, on this sunny Sunday; 
two full hours' liberty ashore while the boat discharged 
freight. In the back streets but few white people were 
visible, but there were plenty of colored folk — mainly 



I 



231 



women and girls; and almost without exception uphol- 
stered in bright new clothes of swell and elaborate style 
and cut — a glaring and hilarious contrast to the mournful 
mud and the pensive puddles. 

Helena is the second town in Arkansas, in point of 
population — which is placed at five thousand. The 
country about it is exceptionally productive. Helena 
has a good cotton trade; handles from forty to sixty 
thousand bales annually; she has a large lumber and 
grain commerce; has a foundry, oil-mills, machine-shops, 
and wagon factories — in brief has one million dollars 
invested in manufacturing industries. She has two rail- 
ways, and is the commercial centre of a broad and pros- 
perous region. Her gross receipts of money, annually, 
from all sources, are placed by the New Orleans Times- 
Democrat at four million dollars. 



CHAPTER XXXI 
A THUMB-PRINT AND WHAT CAME OF IT 

We were approaching Napoleon, Ark. So I began to 
think about my errand there. Time, noonday; and 
bright and sunny. This was bad — not best, any way; 
for mine was not (preferably) a noonday kind of errand. 
The more I thought, the more that fact pushed itself 
upon me — now in one form, now in another. Finally, it 
took the form of a distinct question : Is it good common 
sense to do the errand in daytime, when, by a little sacri- 
fice of comfort and inclination, you can have night for it, 
and no inquisitive eyes around ? This settled it. Plain 
question and plain answer make the shortest road out of 
most perplexities. 

I got my friends into my stateroom, and said I was 
sorry to create annoyance and disappointment, but that 
upon reflection it really seemed best that we put our 
luggage ashore and stop over at Napoleon. Their dis- 
approval was prompt and loud; their language mutinous. 
Their main argument was one which has always been 
the first to come to the surface, in such cases, since the 
beginning of time : *' But you decided and agreed to stick 
to this boat," etc.; as if, having determined to do an 
unwise thing, one is thereby bound to go ahead and 
make two unwise things of it, by carrying out that 
determination. 

I tried various mollifying tactics upon them, with 
reasonably good success : under which encouragement I 
increased my efforts; and, to show them that / had not 



233 



created this annoying errand, and was in no way to blame 
for it, I presently drifted into its history — substantially as 
follows : 

Toward the end of last year I spent a few months in 
Munich, Bavaria. In November I was living in Fraulein 
Dahlweiner's pension^ la, Karlstrasse; but my working 
quarters were a mile from there, in the house of a widow 
who supported herself by taking lodgers. She and her 
two young children used to drop in every morning and 
talk German to me — by request. One day, during a 
ramble about the city, I visited one of the two establish- 
ments where the Government keeps and watches corpses 
until the doctors decide that they are permanently dead, 
and not in a trance state. It was a grisly place, that 
spacious room. There were thirty-six corpses of adults 
in sight, stretched on their backs on slightly slanted 
boards, in three long rows — all of them with wax-white, 
rigid faces, and all of them wrapped in white shrouds. 
Along the sides of the room were deep alcoves, like bay 
windows; and in each of these lay several marble-visaged 
babes, utterly hidden and buried under banks of fresh 
flowers, all but their faces and crossed hands. Around 
a finger of each of these fifty still forms, both great and 
small, was a ring; and from the ring a wire led to the 
ceiling, and thence to a bell in a watch-room yonder, 
where, day and night, a watchman sits always alert and 
ready to spring to the aid of any of that pallid company 
who, waking out of death, shall make a movement — for 
any, even the slightest, movement will twitch the wire and 
ring that fearful bell. I imagined myself a death-sentinel 
drowsing there alone, far in the dragging watches of 
some wailing, gusty night, and having in a twinkling all 
my body stricken to quivering jelly by the sudden clamor 
of that awful summons! So I enquired about this thing; 
asked what resulted usually ? if the watchman died, and 



234 



the restored corpse came and did what it could to make 
his last moments easy ? But I was rebuked for trying 
to feed an idle and frivolous curiosity in so solemn and 
so mournful a place; and went my way with a humbled 
crest. 

Next morning I was telling the widow my adventure 
when she exclaimed : 

'' Come with me ! I have a lodger who shall tell you 
all you want to know. He has been a night watchman 
there." 

He was a living man, but he did not look it. He was 
abed and had his head propped high on pillows; his face 
was wasted and colorless, his deep-sunken eyes were shut; 
his hand, lying on his breast, was talon-like, it was so 
bony and long-fingered. The widow began her introduc- 
tion of me. The man's eyes opened slowly, and glittered 
wickedly out from the twilight of their caverns; he 
frowned a black frown; he lifted his lean hand and waved 
us peremptorily away. But the widow kept straight on, 
till she had got out the fact that I was a stranger and an 
American. The man's face changed at once, brightened, 
became even eager — and the next moment he and I were 
alone together. 

I opened up in cast-iron German; he responded in 
quite flexible English ; thereafter we gave the German 
language a permanent rest. 

This consumptive and I became good friends. I visited 
him every day, and we talked about every thing. At 
least, about every thing but wives and children. Let any 
body's wife or any body's child be mentioned and three 
things always followed : the most gracious and loving 
and tender light glimmered in the man's eyes for a 
moment; faded out the next, and in its place came that 
deadly look which had flamed there the first time I ever 
saw his lids unclose; thirdly, he ceased from speech there 



235 



and then for that day, lay silent, abstracted, and absorbed, 
apparently heard nothing that I said, took no notice of 
my good-bys, and plainly did not know by either sight or 
hearing when I left the room. 

When I had been this Karl Ritter's daily and sole 
intimate during two months, he one day said abruptly: 

"I will tell you my story," 

A DYING man's CONFESSION. 

Then he went on as follows : 

*' I have never given up until now. But now I have 
given up. I am going to die. I made up my mind last 
night that it must be, and very soon, too. You say you 
are going to revisit your river by and by, when you find 
opportunity. Very well; that, together with a certain 
strange experience which fell to my lot last night, deter- 
mines me to tell you my history — for you will see Napo- 
leon, Arkansas, and for my sake you will stop there and 
do a certain thing for me — a thing which you will willingly 
undertake after you shall have heard my narrative. 

*'Let us shorten the story wherever we can, for it will 
need it, being long. You already know how I came to 
go to America, and how I came to settle in that lonely 
region in the South. But you do not know that I had a 
wife. My wife was young, beautiful, loving, and oh, so 
divinely good and blameless and gentle ! And our little 
girl was her mother in miniature. It was the happiest of 
happy households. 

*' One night — it was toward the close of the war — I woke 
up out of a sodden lethargy, and found myself bound and 
gagged, and the air tainted with chloroform ! I saw two 
men in the room, and one was saying to the other in a 
hoarse whisper : ' I told her I would, if she made a noise, 
and as for the child ' 



236 



**The other man interrupted in a low, half-crying 
voice : 

" ' You said we'd only gag them and rob them, not hurt 
them, or I wouldn't have come.' 

^' ' Shut up your whining; /lad to change the plan when 
they waked up. You done 2\\ you could to protect them, 
now let that satisfy you. Come, help rummage.' 

''Both men were masked and wore coarse, ragged 
' nigger ' clothes ; they had a bull's-eye lantern, and by 
its light I noticed that the gentler robber had no thumb 
on his right hand. They rummaged around my poor 
cabin for a moment : the head bandit then said in his 
stage whisper : 

*' ' It's a waste of time — he shall tell where it's hid. 
Undo his gag and revive him up.' 

"The other said : 

*' 'All right — provided no clubbing.' 

" 'No clubbing it is, then — provided he keeps still.' 

"They approached me. Just then there was a sound 
outside, a sound of voices and trampling hoofs ; the 
robbers held their breath and listened ; the sounds came 
slowly nearer and nearer, then came a shout : 

" '' Hello^ the house ! Show a light, we want water.' 

"'The captain's voice, by G !' said the stage- 
whispering ruffian, and both robbers fled by the way of 
the back-door, shutting off their bull's-eye as they ran. 

"The strangers shouted several times more, then rode 
by — there seemed to be a dozen of the horses — and I 
heard nothing more. 

" I struggled, but could not free myself from my bonds. 
I tried to speak, but the gag was effective, I could not 
make a sound. I listened for my v/ife's voice and my 
child's — listened long and intently, but no sound came 
from the other end of the room wiiere their bed was. 
This silence became more and more awful, more and more 



237 . 



ominous, every moment. Could you have endured an 
hour of it, do you think ? Pity me, then, who had to 
endure three. Three hours ? it was three ages ! When- 
ever the clock struck it seemed as if years. had gone by 
since I had heard it last. All this time I was struggling 
in my bonds, and at last, about dawn, I got myself free 
and rose up and stretched my stiff limbs. I was able to 
distinguish details pretty well. The floor was littered 
with things thrown there by the robbers during their 
search for my savings. The first object that caught my 
particular attention was a document of mine which I had 
seen the rougher of the two ruffians glance at and then 
cast away. It had blood on it ! I staggered to the other 
end of the room. Oh, poor unoffending, helpless ones, 
there they lay; their troubles ended, mine begun ! 

"Did I appeal to the law — I? Does it quench the 
pauper's thirst if the king drink for him? Oh, no, no, 
no ! I wanted no impertinent interference of the law. 
Laws and the gallows could not pay the debt that was 
owing to me ! Let the laws leave the matter in my hands, 
and have no fears : I would find the debtor and collect 
the debt. How accomplish this, do you say ? How 
accomplish it and feel so sure about it, when I had 
neither seen the robbers' faces, nor heard their natural 
voices, nor had any idea who they might be? Neverthe- 
less, I was sure — quite sure, quite confident. I had a 
clew — a clew which you would not have valued — a clew 
which would not have greatly helped even a detective, 
since he would lack the secret of how to apply it. I shall 
come to that presently — you shall see. Let us go on 
now, taking things in their due order. There was one 
circumstance which gave me a slant in a definite direc- 
tion to begin with : Those two robbers were manifestly 
soldiers in tramp disguise, and not new to military ser- 
vice, but old in it — regulars, perhaps ; they did not 



238 



acquire their soldierly attitude, gestures, carriage, in a 
day, nor a month, nor yet in a year. So I thought, 
but said nothing. And one of them had said, ' The cap- 
tain's voice, by G ! ' — the one whose life I would 

have. Two miles away several regiments were in camp, 
and two companies of U. S. cavalry. When I learned 
that Captain Blakely of Company C had passed our way 
that night with an escort I said nothing, but in that 
company I resolved to seek my man. In conversation 
I studiously and persistently described the robbers as 
tramps, camp followers; and among this class the people 
made useless search, none suspecting the soldiers but me. 

''Working patiently by night in my desolated home, I 
made a disguise for myself out of various odds and ends 
of clothing; in the nearest village I bought a pair of blue 
goggles. By and by, when the military camp broke up, 
and Company C was ordered a hundred miles north, to 
Napoleon, I secreted my small hoard of money in my 
belt and took my departure in the night. When Com- 
pany C arrived in Napoleon I was already there. Yes, 
I was there, with a new trade — fortune-teller. Not to 
seem partial, I made friends and told fortunes among all 
the companies garrisoned there, but I gave Company C 
the great bulk of my attentions. I made myself limit- 
lessly obliging to these particular men; they could ask me 
no favor, put on me no risk which I would decline. I 
became the willing butt of their jokes ; this perfected my 
popularity; I became a favorite. 

''I early found a private who lacked a thumb — what 
joy it was to me ! And when I found that he alone, of 
all the company, had lost a thumb, my last misgiving 
vanished; I was stif-e I was on the right track. This 
man's name was Kruger, a German. There were nine 
Germans in the company. I watched to see who might 
be his intimates, but he seemed to have no especial 



239 



intimates. But /was his intimate, and I took care to 
make the intimacy grow. Sometimes I so hungered for 
my revenge that I could hardly restrain myself from 
going on my knees and begging him to point out the man 
who had murdered my wife and child, but I managed to 
bridle my tongue. I bided my time and went on telling 
fortunes^ as opportunity offered. 

^' My apparatus was simple: a little red paint and a bit 
of white paper. I painted the ball of the client's thumb, 
took a print of it on the paper, studied it that night, and 
revealed his fortune to him next day. What was my idea 
in this nonsense ? It was this : When I was a youth, I 
knew an old Frenchman who had been a prison-keeper 
for thirty years, and he told me that there was one thing 
about a person which never changed, from the cradle to 
the grave — the lines in the ball of the thumb; and he said 
that these lines were never exactly alike in the thumbs of 
any two human beings. In these days, we photograph 
the new criminal, and hang his picture in the Rogues' 
Gallery for future reference; but that Frenchman, in his 
day, used to take a print of the ball of a new prisoner's 
thumb and put that away for future reference. He 
always said that pictures were no good — future disguises 
could make them useless. ' The thumb's the only sure 
thing,' said he; ' you can't disguise that.' And he used 
to prove his theory, too, on my friends and acquaint- 
ances; it always succeeded. 

*' I went on telling fortunes. Every night I shut myself 
in, all alone, and studied the day's thumb-prints with a 
magnifying-glass. Imagine the devouring eagerness with 
which I pored over those mazy red spirals, with that 
document by my side which bore the right-hand thumb- 
and finger-marks of that unknown murderer, printed with 
the dearest blood — to me — that was ever shed on this 
earth! And many and many a time I had to repeat the 



240 



same old disappointed remark, * Will they never cor- 
respond! ' 

" But my reward came at last. It was the print of the 
thumb of the forty-third man of Company C whom I had 
experimented on — Private Franz Adler. An hour before 
I did not know the murderer's name, or voice, or figure, 
or face, or nationality; but now I knew all these things! 
I believed I might feel sure; the Frenchman's repeated 
demonstrations being so good a w^arranty. Still, there 
was a way to make sure. I had an impression of Kruger's 
left thumb. In the morning I took him aside when he 
was off duty; and when we were out of sight and hearing 
of witnesses, I said impressively: 

'* ' A part of your fortune is so grave that I thought it 
would be better for you if I did not tell it in public. You 
and another man, whose fortune I was studying last 
night — Private Adler — have been murdering a woman 
and a child ! You are being dogged. Within five days 
both of you will be assassinated.' 

''He dropped on his knees, frightened out of his wits; 
and for five minutes he kept pouring out the same set of 
words, like a demented person, and in the same half-cry- 
ing way which was one of my memories of that murder- 
ous night in my cabin : 

" ' I didn't do it; upon my soul I didn't do it; and I 
tried to keep him from doing it. I did, as God is my wit- 
ness. He did it alone.' 

'' This was all I wanted. And I tried to get rid of the 
fool; but no, he clung to me, imploring me to save him 
from the assassin. He said: 

'' ' I have money — ten thousand dollars — hid away, the 
fruit of loot and thievery; save me — tell me what to do, 
and you shall have it, every penny. Two-thirds of it is 
my cousin Adler's; but you can take it all. We hid it 
when we first came here. But I hid it in a new place 



341 



yesterday, and have not told him — shall not tell him. I 
was going to desert, and get away with it all. It is gold, 
and too heavy to carry when one is running and dodging; 
but a woman who has been gone over the river two days to 
prepare my way for me is going to follow me with it; and 
if I got no chance to describe the hiding-place to her I 
was going to slip my silver watch into her hand, or send 
it to her, and she would understand. There's a piece of 
paper in the back of the case which tells it all. Here, 
take the watch — tell me what to do ! ' 

"He was trying to press his watch upon me, and was 
exposing the paper and explaining it to me, when Adler 
appeared on the scene, about a dozen yards away. I said 
to poor Kruger: 

'' ' Put up your watch, I don't want it. You sha'n't come 
to any harm. Go, now. I must tell Adler his fortune. 
Presently I will tell you how to escape the assassin; 
meantime I shall have to examine your thumb-mark again. 
Say nothing to Adler about this thing — say nothing to 
any body.' 

''He went away filled with fright and gratitude, poor 
devil ! I told Adler a long fortune — purposely so long 
that I could not finish it; promised to come to him on 
guard, that night, and tell him the really important part 
of it — the tragical part of it, I said — so must be out of 
reach of eavesdroppers. They always kept a picket- 
watch outside the town — mere discipline and ceremony — 
no occasion for it, no enemy around. 

''Toward midnight I set out, equipped with the counter- 
sign, and picked my way toward the lonely region where 
Adler was to keep his watch. It was so dark that I 
stumbled right on a dim figure almost before I could 
get out a protecting word. The sentinel hailed and 
I answered, both at the same moment. I added, ' It's 
only me — the fortune-teller.' Then I slipped to the 
i6 



242 



poor devil's side, and without a word I drove my dirk 
into his heart ! ^ Ja wohl^' laughed I, 'it was the tragedy 
part of his fortune, indeed!' As he fell from his horse 
he clutched at me, and my blue goggles remained in his 
hand; and away plunged the beast, dragging him with his 
foot in the stirrup. 

"I fled through the woods and made good my escape, 
leaving the accusing goggles behind me in that dead 
man's hand. 

"This was fifteen or sixteen years ago. Since then I 
have wandered aimlessly about the earth, sometimes at 
work, sometimes idle; sometimes with money, sometimes 
with none; but always tired of life, and wishing it was 
done, for my mission here was finished with the act of 
that night; and the only pleasure, solace, satisfaction I 
had, in all those tedious years, was in the daily reflection, 
' I have killed him ! ' 

"Four years ago my health began to fail. I had 
wandered into Munich, in my purposeless way. Being 
out of money I sought work, and got it; did my duty 
faithfully about a year, and was then given the berth of 
night watchman yonder in that dead-house which you 
visited lately. The place suited my mood. I liked it 
I liked being with the dead — liked being alone with them. 
I used to wander among those rigid corpses, and peer 
into their austere faces, by the hour. The later the time, 
the more impressive it was; I preferred the late time. 
Sometimes I turned the lights low : this gave perspect- 
ive, you see; and the imagination could play; always, 
the dim, receding ranks of the dead inspired one with 
weird and fascinating fancies. Two years ago — I had 
been there a year then — I was sitting all alone in the 
watch-room, one gusty winter's night, chilled, numb, 
comfortless; drowsing gradually into unconsciousness; 
the sobbing of the wind and the slamming of distant 



243 



shutters falling fainter and fainter upon my dulling ear 
each moment, when sharp and suddenly that dead-bell 
rang out a blood-curdling alarum over my head ! The 
shock of it nearly paralyzed me; for it was the first time 
I had ever heard it. 

''I gathered myself together and flew to the corpse- 
room. About midway down the outside rank, a shrouded 
figure was sitting upright, wagging its head slowly from 
one side to the other — a grisly spectacle! Its side was 
toward me. I hurried to it and peered into its face. 
Heavens, it was Adler ! 

'' Can you divine what my first thought was ? Put into 
words, it was this : ' It seems, then, you escaped me 
once : there will be a different result this time ! ' 

*' Evidently this creature was suffering unimaginable 
terrors. Think what it must have been to wake up in 
the midst of that voiceless hush, and look out over that 
grim congregation of the dead ! What gratitude shone 
in his skinny white face when he saw a living form before 
him ! And how the fervency of this mute gratitude was 
augmented when his eyes fell upon the life-giving cor- 
dials which I carried in my hands ! Then imagine the 
horror which came into this pinched face when I put the 
cordials behind me, and said mockingly: 

'' ' Speak up, Franz Adler — call upon these dead ! Doubt- 
less they will listen and have pity; but here there is none 
else that will.' 

'' He tried to speak, but that part of the shroud which 
bound his jaws held firm, and would not let him. He 
tried to lift imploring hands, but they were crossed upon 
his breast and tied. I said : 

" ' Shout, Franz Adler; make the sleepers in the distant 
streets hear you and bring help.- Shout — and lose no 
time, for there is little to lose. What, you cannot? That 
is a pity; but it is no matter — it does not always bring 



244 



help. When you and your cousin murdered a helpless 
woman and child in a cabin in Arkansas — my wife, it was, 
and my child ! — they shrieked for help, you remember; 
but it did no good; you remember that it did no good, is 
it not so ? Your teeth chatter — then why cannot you 
shout ? Loosen the bandages with your hands — then you 
can. Ah, I see — your hands are tied, they cannot aid 
you. How strangely things repeat themselves, after long 
years; for my hands were tied, that night, you remember? 
Yes, tied much as yours are now — how odd that is ! I 
could not pull free. It did not occur to you to untie me; 

it does not occur to me to untie you. Sh ] there's a 

late footstep. It is coming this way. Hark, how near 
it is ! One can count the footfalls — one — two — three. 
There — it is just outside. Now is the time ! Shout, 
man, shout! it is the one sole chance between you and 
eternity ! Ah, you see you have delayed too long — it is 
gone by. There — it is dying out. It is gone ! Think of 
it — reflect upon it — you have heard a human footstep for 
the last time. How curious it must be, to listen to so 
common a sound as that and know that one will never 
hear the fellow to it again.' 

'■'■ Oh, my friend, the agony in that shrouded face was 
ecstasy to see ! I thought of a new torture, and applied 
it — assisting myself with a trifle of lying invention : 

'* 'That poor Kruger tried to save my wife and child, 
and I did him a grateful good turn for it when the time 
came. I persuaded him to rob you ; and I and a woman 
helped him to desert, and got him aw^ay in safety.' 

*' A look as of surprise and triumph shone out dimly 
through the anguish in my victim's face. I was dis- 
turbed, disquieted. I said : 

" ' What, then — didn't he escape ? * 

"A negative shake of the head. 

*' ' No ? What happened, then ? ' 



i 



245 



The satisfaction in the shrouded face was still plainer. 
The man tried to mumble out some words — could not 
succeed ; tried to express something with his obstructed 
hands — failed ; paused a moment, then feebly tilted his 
head, in a meaning way, toward the corpse that lay 
nearest him. 

"'Dead?' I asked. * Failed to escape ? caught in 
the act and shot ? * 

" Negative shake of the head. 

" 'How, then ?' 

"Again the man tried to do something with his hands. 
I watched closely, but could not guess the intent. I bent 
over and watched still more intently. He had twisted 
a thumb around and was weakly punching at his breast 
with it. 

" 'Ah — stabbed, do you mean?' 

"Affirmative nod, accompanied by a spectral smile of 
such devilishness that it struck an awakening light 
through my dull brain, and I cried: 

"'Did /stab him, mistaking him for you? for that 
stroke was meant for none but you.' 

" The affirmative nod of there-dyingrascal was as joyous 
as his failing strength was able to put into its expression. 

" ' Oh, miserable, miserable me, to slaughter the pity- 
ing soul that stood a friend to my darlings when they 
were helpless, and would have saved them if he could ! 
miserable, oh, miserable, miserable me ! ' 

" I fancied I heard the muffled gurgle of a mocking 
laugh. I took my face out of my hands, and saw my 
enemy sinking back upon his inclined board. 

" He was a satisfactory long time dying. He had a 
wonderful vitality, an astonishing constitution. Yes, he 
was a pleasant long time at it. I got a chair and a news- 
paper, and sat down by him and read. Occasionally I took 
a sip of brandy. This was necessary, on account of the 



246 



cold. But I did it partly because I saw that, along at 
first, whenever I reached for the bottle, he thought I was 
going to give him some. I read aloud: mainly imaginary 
accounts of people snatched from the grave's threshold 
and restored to life and vigor by a few spoonsful of liqucr 
and a warm bath. Yes, he had a long, hard death of it — 
three hours and six minutes, from the time he rang his bell. 

*' It is believed that in all these eighteen years that have 
elapsed since the institution of the corpse-watch, no 
shrouded occupant of the Bavarian dead-houses has ever 
rung its bell. Well, it is a harmless belief. Let it stand 
at that. 

''The chill of that death-room had penetrated mybones. 
It revived and fastened upon me the disease which had 
been afflicting me, but which, up to that night, had been 
steadily disappearing. That man murdered my wife and 
my child; and in three days hence he will have added me 
to his list. No matter — God! how delicious the memory 
of it ! I caught him escaping from his grave, and thrust 
him back into it ! 

" After that night I was confined to my bed for a week; 
but as soon as I could get about I went to the dead-house 
books-and got the number of the house which Adler had 
died in. A wretched lodging-house it was. It was my 
idea that he would naturally have gotten hold of Kruger's 
effects, being his cousin ; and I wanted to get Kruger's 
watch, if I could. But while I was sick, Adler's things 
had been sold and scattered, all except a few old letters, 
and some odds and ends of no value. However, through 
those letters I traced out a son of Kruger's, the only rel- 
ative he left. He is a man of thirty, now, a shoemaker 
by trade, and living at No. 14 Konigstrasse, Mannheim — 
widower, with several small children. Without explain- 
ing to him why, I have furnished two-thirds of his sup- 
port ever since. 



247 



" Now, as to that watch — see how strangely things hap- 
pen ! I traced it around and about Germany for more 
than a year, at considerable cost in money and vexation; 
and at last I got it. Got it, and was unspeakably glad ; 
opened it, and found nothing in it ! Why, I might have 
known that that bit of paper was not going to stay there 
all this time. Of course I gave up that ten thousand dol- 
lars then ; gave it up, and dropped it out of my mind; 
and most sorrowfully, for I had wanted it for Kruger's son. 

*' Last night, when I consented at last that I must die, I 
began to make ready. I proceeded to burn all useless 
papers ; and sure enough, from a batch of Adler's, not 
previously examined with thoroughness, out dropped that 
long-desired scrap! I recognized it in a moment. Here 
it is — I will translate it: 

" Brick livery stable, stone foundation, middle of town, corner of 
Orleans and Market. Corner toward Court-house. Third stone, 
fourth row. Stick notice there, saying how many are to come. 

''There — take it, and preserve it! Kruger explained 
that that stone was removable ; and that it was in the 
north wall of the foundation, fourth row from the top, 
and third stone from the west. The money is secreted 
behind it. He said the closing sentence was a blind, to 
mislead in case the paper should fall into wrong hands. 
It probably performed that office for Adler. 

" Now I want to beg that when you make your intended 
journey down the river, you will hunt out that hidden 
money, and send it to Adam Kruger, care of the Mann- 
heim address which I have mentioned. It will make a 
rich man of him, and I shall sleep the sounder in my 
grave for knowing that I have done what I could for the 
son of the man vv'ho tried to save my wife and child — albeit 
my hand ignorantly struck him down, whereas the impulse 
of mv heart -would have been to shield and serve him." 



CHAPTER XXXII 
THE DISPOSAL OF A BONANZA 

" Such was Ritter's narrative," said I to my two friends, 
Thiere was a profound and impressive silence, which lasted 
a considerable time; then both men broke into a fusillade 
of excited and admiring ejaculations over the strange in- 
cidents of the tale: and this, along with a rattling fire of 
questions, was kept up until all hands were about out of 
breath. Then my friends began to cool down, and draw 
off, under shelter of occasional volleys, into silence and 
abysmal revery. For ten minutes, now, there was still- 
ness. Then Rogers said dreamily: 

'' Ten thousand dollars ! " Adding, after a considera- 
ble pause : 

"Ten thousand. It is a heap of money." 

Presently the poet enquired : 

'' Are you going to send it to him right away ? " 

"Yes," I said. " It is a queer question." 

No reply. After a Httle, Rogers asked hesitatingly : 

''All of it ? That is— I mean " 

" C<?r/^/;z/i', all of it." 

I was going to say more, but stopped — was stopped by 
a train of thought which started up in me. Thompson 
spoke, but my mind was absent and I did not catch what 
he said. But I heard Rogers answer : 

" Yes, it seems so to me. It ought to be quite sufficient; 
for I don't see that he has done any thing." 

Presently the poet said : 

"When you come to look at it, it is 7Jiore than sufficient. 
Just look at it — five thousand dollars ! Why, he couldn't 



I 



249 



spend it in a lifetime ! And it would injure him, too ; 
perhaps ruin him — you want to look at that. In a little 
while he would throw his last away, shut up his shop, 
maybe take to drinking, maltreat his motherless children, 
drift into other evil courses, go steadily from bad to 
worse " 

" Yes, that's it," interrupted Rogers fervently, "I've 
seen it a hundred times — yes, more than a hundred. You 
put money into the hands of a man like that, if you want 
to destroy him, that's all. Just put money into his hands, 
it's all you've got to do; and if it don't pull him down, 
and take all the usefulness out of him, and all the self- 
respect and every thing, then I don't know human nature 
— ain't that so, Thompson ? And even if we were to give 
him a third oi it; why, in less than six months " 

'' Less than six weeks, you'd better say ! " said I, warm- 
ing up and breaking in. "Unless he had that three 
thousand dollars in safe hands where he couldn't touch 
it, he would no more last you six weeks than " 

" Of course he wouldn't! " said Thompson. " I've edited 
books for that kind of people: and the moment they get 
their hands on the royalty — maybe it's three thousand, 
maybe it's two thousand " 

"What business has that shoemaker w^ith two thousand 
dollars, I should like to know?" broke in Rogers ear- 
nestly. "A man perhaps perfectly contented now, there 
in Mannheim, surrounded by his own class, eating his 
bread with the appetite which laborious industry alone 
can give, enjoying his humble life, honest, upright, pure 
in heart, and blest ! — yes, I say blest ! above all the my- 
riads that go in silk attire and walk the empty, artificial 
round of social folly — but just you put tJiat temptation 
before him once! just you lay fifteen hundred dollars 
before a man like that, and say " 

"Fifteen hundred devils!" cried I. '^ Five hundred 



250 



would rot his principles, paralyze his industry, drag him 
to the rumshop, thence to the gutter, thence to the alms- 
house, thence to " 

*' W/iy put upon ourselves this crime, gentlemen ? " in- 
terrupted the poet earnestly and appealingly. '^ He is 
happy where he is, and as he is. Every sentiment of 
honor, every sentiment of charity, every sentiment of 
high and sacred benevolence warns us, beseeches us, 
commands us to leave him undisturbed. That is real 
friendship, that is true friendship. We could follow other 
courses that would be more showy; but none that would 
be so truly kind and wise, depend upon it." 

After some further talk, it became evident that each of 
us, down in his heart, felt some misgivings over this set- 
tlement of the matter. It was manifest that we all felt 
that we ought to send the poor shoemaker sometJmig. 
There was long and thoughtful discussion of this point, 
and we finally decided to send him a chromo. 

Well, now that every thing seemed to be arranged satis- 
factorily to every-body concerned, a new trouble broke 
out : it transpired that these two men were expecting to 
share equally in the money with me. That was not my 
idea. I said that if they got half of it between them they 
might consider themselves lucky. Rogers said : 

"Who would have had any if it hadn't been for me? I 
flung out the first hint — but for that it would all have 
gone to the shoemaker." 

Thompson said that he was thinking of the thing 
himself at the very moment that Rogers had originally 
spoken. 

I retorted that the idea would have occurred to me 
plenty soon enough, and without any body's help. I was 
slow about thinking, maybe, but I was sure. 

This matter warmed up into a quarrel; then into a 
fight; and each man got pretty badly battered. As soon 



2m 



as I had got myself mended up after a fashion, I ascended 
to the hurricane deck in a pretty sour humor. I found 
Captain McCord there, and said, as pleasantly as my 
humor would permit : 

'' I have come to say good-by, captain. I wish to go 
ashore at Napoleon." 

" Go ashore where ? " 

** Napoleon." 

The captain laughed; but seeing that I was not in a 
jovial mood, stopped that and said: 

*' But are you serious ?" 

*' Serious ? I certainly am." 

The captain glanced up at the pilot-house and said: 

*' He wants to get off at Napoleon ! " 

'' NapoleonV 

''That's what he says." 

** Great Caesar's ghost!" 

Uncle Mumford approached along the deck. The 
captain said : 

** Uncle, here's a friend of yours wants to get off at 
Napoleon!" 

*'Well, by !" 

I said: 

*'Come, what is all this about ? Can't a man go ashore 
at Napoleon, if he wants to ? " 

** Why, hang it, don't you know ? There isnt any 
Napoleon any more. Hasn't been for years and years. 
The Arkansas River burst through it, tore it all to rags, 
and emptied it into the Mississippi! " 

*' Carried the whole town away ? Banks, churches, 
jails, newspaper offices, court-house, theatre, fire depart- 
ment, livery stable — every thing?'' 

** Every thing! Just a fifteen-minute job, or such a 
matter. Didn't leave hide nor hair, shred nor shingle of 
it, except the fag-end of a shanty and one brick chimney. 



252 



This boat is paddling along right now where the dead- 
centre of that town used to be; yonder is the brick 
chimney — all that's left of Napoleon. These dense woods 
on the right used to be a mile back of the town. Take a 
look behind you — up-stream — now you begin to recognize 
this country, don't you ? " 

*' Yes, I do recognize it now. It is the most wonderful 
thing I ever heard of; by a long shot the most wonder- 
ful — and unexpected." 

Mr. Thompson and Mr. Rogers had arrived, meantime, 
with satchels and umbrellas, and had silently listened to 
the captain's news. Thompson put a half-dollar in my 
hand and said softly: 

'* For my share of the chromo." 
^ Rogers followed suit. 

Yes, it was an astonishing thing to see the Mississippi 
rolling between unpeopled shores and straight over the 
spot where I used to see a good big self-complacent town 
twenty years ago. Town that was county-seat of a great 
and important county; town with a big United States 
marine hospital; town of innumerable fights — an inquest 
every day; town where I had used to know the prettiest 
girl, and the most accomplished, in the whole Mississippi 
Valley; town where we were handed the first printed 
news of the Pennsylvania's mournful disaster a quarter 
of a century ago ; a town no more — swallowed up, van- 
ished, gone to feed the fishes ; nothing left but a frag- 
ment of a shanty and a crumbling brick chimney ! 



CHAPTER XXXni 
REFRESHMENTS AND ETHICS 

In regard to Island 74, which is situated not far from 
the former Napoleon, a freak of the river here has sorely 
perplexed the laws of men and made them a vanity and 
a jest. When the State of Arkansas was chartered, she 
controlled " to the centre of the river " — a most unstable 
line. The State of Mississippi claimed "to the chan- 
nel " — another shifty and unstable line. No. 74 belonged 
to Arkansas. By and by a cut-off threw this big island 
out of Arkansas, and yet not ivithifi Mississippi. " Mid- 
dle of the river " on one side of it, " channel " on the 
other. That is as I understand the problem. Whether 
I have got the details right or wrong, tSxi"^ fact remains: 
that here is this big and exceedingly valuable island of 
four thousand acres, thrust out in the cold, and belong- 
ing to neither the one State nor the other; paying taxes 
to neither, owing allegiance to neither. One man owns 
the whole island, and of right is '' the man without a 
country." 

Island 92 belongs to Arkansas. The river moved it 
over and joined it to Mississippi. A chap established a 
whiskey shop there, without a Mississippi license, and 
enriched himself upon Mississippi custom under Arkansas 
protection (where no license was in those days required). 

We glided steadily down the river in the usual privacy — 
steamboat or other^ltiioving thing seldom seen. Scenery 
as always; stretch upon stretch of almost unbroken forest 
on both sides of the river; soundless solitude. Here and 
there a cabin or two, standing in small openings on the 



254 



gray and grassless banks — cabins which had formerly 
stood a quarter or half mile farther to the front, and 
gradually been pulled farther and farther back as the 
shores caved in. As at Pilcher's Point, for instance, 
where the cabins had been moved back three hundred 
yards in three months, so we were told; but the caving 
banks had already caught up with them, and they were 
being conveyed rearward once more. 

Napoleon had but small opinion of Greenville, Miss., 
in the old times; but behold. Napoleon is gone to 
the catfishes, and here is Greenville full of life and 
activity, and making a considerable flourish in the 
Valley; having three thousand inhabitants, it is said, and 
doing a gross trade of two million five hundred thousand 
dollars annually. A growing town. 

There was much talk on the boat about the Calhoun 
Land Company, an enterprise which is expected to work 
wholesome results. Colonel Calhoun, a grandson of the 
statesman, went to Boston and formed a syndicate which 
purchased a large tract of land on the river, in Chicot 
County, Arkansas, — some ten thousand acres, — for cotton- 
growing. The purpose is to work on a cash basis: buy 
at first hands, and handle their own product; supply their 
negro laborers with provisions and necessaries at a trifling 
profit, say eight or ten per cent. ; furnish them comfort- 
able quarters, etc., and encourage them to save money and 
remain on the place. If this proves a financial success, 
as seems quite certain, they propose to establish a bank- 
ing-house in Greenville, and lend money at an unburden- 
some rate of interest — six per cent, is spoken of. 

The trouble heretofore has been — I am quoting remarks 
of planters and steamboatmen — that the planters, although 
owning the land, were without cash capital; had to 
hypothecate both land and crop to carry on the business. 
Consequently, the commission dealer who furnishes the 



255 



money takes some risk and demands big interest — usually 
ten per cent., and two and one-half per cent, for negotiat- 
ing the loan. The planter has also to buy his supplies 
through the same dealer, paying commissions and profits. 
Then when he ships his crop, the dealer adds his com- 
missions, insurance, etc. So, taking it by and large, and 
first and last, the dealer's share of that crop is about 
twenty-five per cent.* 

A cotton-planter's estimate of the average margin of 
profit on planting, in his section : One man and mule will 
raise ten acres of cotton, giving ten bales cotton, worth, 
say five hundred dollars; cost of producing, say three 
hundred and fifty dollars; net profit, one hundred and 
fifty dollars, or fifteen dollars per acre. There is also a 
profit now from the cotton-seed, which formerly had little 
value — none where much transportation was necessary. 
In sixteen hundred pounds crude cotton, four hundred 
-are lint, worth, say, ten cents a pound; and twelve 
hundred pounds of seed, worth twelve dollars or thirteen 
dollars per ton. Maybe in future even the stems will not 
be thrown away. Mr. Edward Atkinson says that for 
each bale of cotton there are fifteen hundred pounds of 
stems, and that these are very rich in phosphate of lime 
and potash; that when ground and mixed with ensilage 
or cotton-seed meal (which is too rich for use as fodder 
in large quantities), the stem mixture makes a superior 
food, rich in all the elements needed for the production 
of milk, meat, and bone. Heretofore the stems have 
been considered a nuisance. 

Complaint is made that the planter remains grouty 

* " But what can the State do where the people are under subjection to 
rates of interest ranging from eighteen to thirty per cent., and are also 
under the necessity of purchasing their crops in advance even of planting, 
at these rates, for the privilege of purchasing all their supplies at one 
hundred per cent, profit ? " — Edivard Atkinson. 



256 



toward the former slave, since the war; will have noth- 
ing but a chjll business relation with him, no sentiment 
permitted to intrude; will not keep a ''store" himself, 
and supply the negro's wants and thus protect the negro's 
pocket and make him able and wnlling to stay on the 
place and an advantage to him to do it, but lets that 
privilege to some thrifty Israelite, who encourages the 
thoughtless negro and wife to buy all sorts of things 
which they could do without — buy on credit, at big 
prices, month after month, credit based on the negro's 
share of the growing crop; and at the end of the season, 
the negro's share belongs to the Israelite, the negro is 
in debt besides, is discouraged, dissatisfied, restless, and 
both he and the planter are injured; for he will take 
steamboat and migrate, and the planter must get a 
stranger in his place who does not know him, does not 
care for him, will fatten the Israelite a season, and 
follow his predecessor per steamboat. 

It is hoped that the Calhoun Company will show, by 
its humane and protective treatment of its laborers, that 
its method is the most profitable for both planter and 
negro; and it is believed that a general adoption of that 
method will then follow. 

And where so many are saying their say, shall not the 
barkeeper testify ? He is thoughtful, observant, never 
drinks; endeavors to earn his salary, and would earn it 
if there were custom enough. He says the people along 
here in Mississippi and Louisiana will send up the river 
to buy vegetables rather than raise them, and they will 
come aboard at the landings and buy fruits of the bar- 
keeper. Thinks they ''don't know any thing but 
cotton"; believes they don't know how to raise vege- 
tables and fruit — "at least the most of them." Says "a 
nigger will go to H for a watermelon " (" H" is all I find 
in the stenographer's report — means Halifax probably, 



257 



though that seems a good way to go for a watermelon). 
Barkeeper buys watermelons for five cents up the river, 
brings them down and sells them for fifty. ''Why does 
he mix such elaborate and picturesque drinks for the 
nigger hands on the boat?" Because they won't have 
any other. "They want a big drink; don't make any 
difference what you^make it of, they want the worth of 
their money. You give a nigger a plain gill of half-a- 
dollar brandy for five cents — will he touch it ? No. 
Ain't size enough to it. But you put up a pint of all 
kinds of worthless rubbish, and heave in some red stuff 
to make it beautiful — red's the main thing — and he 
wouldn't put down that glass to go to a circus." All 
the bars on this Anchor Line are rented and owned by 
one firm. They furnish the liquors from their own 
establishment, and hire the barkeepers "on salary." 
Good liquors ? Yes, on some of the boats, where there 
are the kind of passengers that want it and can pay for 
it. On the other boats ? No. Nobody but the deck- 
hands and firemen to drink it. " Brandy ? Yes, I've 
got brandy, plenty of it; but you don't want any of it 
unless you've made your will." It isn't as it used to be 
in the old times. Then every body travelled by steam- 
boat, every body drank, and every body treated every 
body else. " Now most every body goes by railroad, and 
the rest don't drink." In the old times, the barkeeper 
owned the bar himself, "and was gay and smarty and 
talky and all jewelled up, and was the toniest aristocrat 
on the boat; used to make two thousand dollars on a 
trip. A father who left his son a steamboat bar, left him 
a fortune. Now he leaves him board and lodging; yes, 
and washing if a shirt a trip will do. Yes, indeedy, times 
are changed. Why, do you know, on the principal line of 
boats on the Upper Mississippi they don't have any bar 
at all! Sounds like poetry, but it's the petrified truth." 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

TOUGH YARNS^ 

Stack Island. I remembered Stack Island; also 
Lake Providence, La. — which is the first distinctly 
Southern-looking town you come to, downward bound; 
lies level and low, shade-trees hung with venerable gray- 
beards of Spanish moss; "restful, pensive, Sunday 
aspect about the place," comments Uncle Mumford, with 
feeling — also with truth. 

A Mr. H. furnished some minor details of fact con- 
cerning this region which I would have hesitated to 
believe, if I had not known him to be a steamboat mate. 
He was a passenger of ours, a resident of Arkansas City, 
and bound to Vicksburg to join his boat, a little Sun- 
flower packet. He w^as an austere man, and had the 
reputation of being singularly unworldly, for a river man. 
Among other things, he said that Arkansas had been 
injured and kept back by generations of exaggerations 
concerning the mosquitoes there. One may smile, said 
he, and turn the matter off as being a small thing; but 
when you come to look at the effects produced, in the 
way of discouragement of immigration and diminished 
values of property, it was quite the opposite of a small 
thing, or thing in any wise to be coughed down or 
sneered at. These mosquitoes had been persistently 
represented as being formidable and lawless; whereas 
"the truth is, they are feeble, insignificant in size, diffi- 
dent to a fault, sensitive" — and so on, and so on; you 
would have supposed he was talking about his family. 



259 



But if he was soft on the Arkansas mosquitoes, he was 
hard enough on the mosquitoes of Lake Providence to 
make up for it — ''those Lake Providence colossi," as he 
finely called them. He said that two of them could whip 
a dog, and that four of them could hold a man down; 
and except help come, they would kill him — ''butcher 
him," as he expressed it. Referred in a sort of casual 
way — and yet significant way, to "the fact that the life 
policy in its simplest form is unknown in Lake Provi- 
dence — they take out a mosquito policy besides." He 
told many remarkable things about those lawless insects. 
Among others, said he had seen them try to vofe. Notic- 
ing that this statement seemed to be a good deal of a 
strain on us, he modified it a little; said he might have 
been mistaken as to that particular, but knew he had 
seen them around the polls "canvassing." 

There was another passenger — friend of H.'s — who 
backed up the harsh evidence against those mosquitoes, 
and detailed some stirring adventures which he had had 
with them. The stories were pretty sizable, merely pretty 
sizable; yet Mr. H. was continually interrupting with a 
cold, inexorable "Wait — knock off twenty-five per cent. 
of that; now go on; " or, " Wait — you are getting that 
too strong; cut it down, cut it down — you get a leetle 
too much costumery on to your statements : always dress 
a fact in tights, never in an ulster; " or, " Pardon, once 
more; if you are going to load any thing more on to that 
statement, you want to get a couple of lighters and tow 
the rest, because it's drawing all the water there is in the 
river already; stick to facts — just stick to the cold facts; 
what these gentlemen want for a book is the frozen 
truth — ain't that so, gentlemen ? " He explained privately 
that it was necessary to watch this man all the time, and 
keep him within bounds; it would not do to neglect this 
precaution, as he, Mr. H., "knew to his sorrow." Said 



26o 



he, '' I will not deceive you; he told me such a monstrous 
lie once that it swelled my left ear up, and spread it so 
that I was actually not able to see out around it; it re- 
mained so for months, and people came miles to see me 
fan myself with it/' 



CHAPTER XXXV 
VICKSBURG DURING THE TROUBLE 

We used to plough past the lofty hill-city, Vicksburg, 
down-stream; but we cannot do that now. A cut-off has 
made a country town of it, like Osceola, St. Genevieve, 
and several others. There is currentless water — also a 
big island — in front of Vicksburg now. You come down 
the river the other side of the island, then turn and come 
up to the town, that is, in high water : in low water you 
can't come up, but must land some distance below it. 

Signs and scars still remain, as reminders of Vicks- 
burg's tremendous w^ar-experiences; earthworks, trees 
crippled by the cannon-balls, cave refuges in the clay 
precipices, etc. The caves did good service during the 
six weeks' bombardment of the city — May i8 to July 4, 
1863. They were used by the non-combatants — mainly by 
the women and children; not to live in constantly, but to 
fly to for safety on occasion. They were mere holes, 
tunnels driven into the perpendicular clay bank, then 
branched Y shape, within the hill. Life in Vicksburg 
during the six weeks was perhaps — but wait; here are 
some materials out of which to reproduce it : 

Population, twenty-seven thousand soldiers and three 
thousand non-combatants; the city utterly cut off from 
the world — walled solidly in, the frontage by gunboats, 
the rear by soldiers and batteries; hence, no buying and 
selling with the outside; no passing to and fro; no God- 
speeding a parting guest, no welcoming a coming one; 
no printed acres of world-wide news to be read at break- 
fast, mornings — a tedious dull absence of such matter, 



262 



instead; hence, also, no running to see steamboats smok- 
ing into view in the distance up or down, and ploughing 
toward the town — for none came, the river lay vacant 
and undisturbed; no rush and turmoil around the railway- 
station, no struggling over bewildered swarms of pas- 
sengers by noisy mobs of hackmen — all quiet there; flour 
two hundred dollars a barrel, sugar thirty, corn ten 
dollars a bushel, bacon five dollars a pound, rum a hun- 
dred dollars a gallon, other things in proportion ; con- 
sequently, no roar and racket of drays and carriages 
tearing along the streets; nothing for them to do, among 
that handful of non-combatants of exhausted means; at 
three o'clock in the morning, silence — silence so dead 
that the measured tramp of a sentinel can be heard a 
seemingly impossible distance; out of hearing of this 
lonely sound, perhaps the stillness is absolute : all in a 
moment come ground-shaking thunder-crashes of artillery, 
the sky is cobwebbed with the criss-crossing red lines 
streaming from soaring bomb-shells, and a rain of iron 
fragments descends upon the city, descends upon the 
empty streets — streets which are not empty a moment 
later, but mottled with dim figures of frantic women and 
children scurrying from home and bed toward the cave 
dungeons — encouraged by the humorous grim soldiery, 
who shout ''Rats, to your holes! " and laugh. 

The cannon-thunder rages, shells scream and crash 
overhead, the iron rain pours down, one hour, two hours, 
three, possibly six, then stops; silence follows, but the 
streets are still empty; the silence continues; by and by 
a head projects from a cave here and there and yonder, 
and reconnoitres cautiously; the silence still continuing^ 
bodies follow heads, and jaded, half-smothered creatures 
group themselves about, stretch their cramped limbs, 
draw in deep draughts of the grateful fresh air, gossip 
with the neighbors from the next cave; maybe straggle 



263 



off home presently, or take a lounge through the town, if 
the stillness continues; and will scurry to the holes again, 
by and by, when the wa^tempest breaks forth once 
more. 

There being but three thousand of these cave-dwellers — 
merely the population of a village — would they not come 
to know each other, after a week or two, and familiarly; 
insomuch that the fortunate or unfortunate experiences 
of one would be of interest to all ? 

Those are the materials furnished by history. From 
them might not almost any body reproduce for himself 
the life of that time in Vicksburg ? Could you, who did 
not experience it, come nearer to reproducing it to the 
imagination of another non-participant than could a 
Vicksburger who did experience it ? It seems impossible ; 
and yet there are reasons why it might not really be. 
When one makes his first voyage in a ship, it is an experi- 
ence which multitudinously bristles with striking novel- 
ties; novelties which are in such sharp contrast with all 
this person's former experiences that they take a seem- 
ingly deathless grip upon his imagination and memory. 
By tongue or pen he can make a landsman live that 
strange and stirring voyage over with him; make him see 
it all and feel it all. But if he wait ? If he make ten 
voyages in succession — what then ? Why, the thing has 
lost color, snap, surprise; and has become commonplace. 
The man would have nothing to tell that would quicken a 
landsman's pulse. 

Years ago I talked with a couple of the Vicksburg non- 
combatants — a man and his wife. Left to tell their story 
in their own way, those people told it without fire, almost 
without interest. 

A week of their wonderful life there would have made 
their tongues eloquent forever perhaps; but they had six 
weeks of it, and that wore the novelty all out; they got 



264 



used to being bomb-shelled out of home and into the 
ground; the matter became commonplace. After that, 
the possibility of their ever being startlingly interesting 
in their talks about it was gone. What the man said was 
to this effect : 

It got to be Sunday all the time. Seven Sundays in the 
week — to us, any way. We hadn't any thing to do, and time hung 
heavy. Seven Sundays, and all of them broken up at one time or 
another, in the day or in the niglit, by a few hours of the awful 
storm of fire and thunder and iron. At first we used to shin for 
the holes a good deal faster than we did afterward. The first 
time I forgot the children, and Maria fetched them both along. 
Wlien she was all safe in the cave she fainted. Two or three 
weeks afterward, when she was running for the holes, one morn- 
ing, through a shell-shower, a big shell burst near her and covered 
her all over with dirt, and a piece of iron carried away her 
game-bag of false hair from the back of her head. Well, she 
stopped to get that game-bag before she shoved along again ! 
W^as getting used to things already, you see. W^e all got so that 
we could tell a good deal about shells ; and after that we didn't 
always go under shelter if it was a light shower. Us men would 
loaf around and talk ; and a man would say, " There she goes ! " 
and name the kind of shell it was from the sound of it, and go on 
talking — if there wasn't any danger from it. If a shell was burst- 
ing close over us, we stopped talking and stood still ; uncomfort- 
able, yes, but it wasn't safe to move. When it let go, we went on 
talking again, if nobody was hurt — maybe saying, " That was a 
ripper ! " or some such commonplace comment before we resumed ; 
or, maybe, we would see a shell poising itself away high in the air 
overhead. In that case, every fellow just whipped out a sudden, 
" See you again, gents ! " and shoved. Often and often I saw gangs 
of ladies promenading the streets, looking as cheerful as you 
please, and keeping an eye canted up watching the shells ; and 
I've seen them stop still when they were uncertain about what a 
shell was going to do, and wait and make certain ; and after that 
they sa'ntered along again, or lit out for shelter, according to the 
verdict. Streets in some towns have a litter of pieces of paper, and 
odds and ends of one sort or another lying around. Ours hadn't ; 



265 



they had iron litter. Sometimes a man would gather up all the 
iron fragments and unbursted shells in his neighborhood, and pile 
them into a kind of monument in his front yard — a ton of it, some- 
times. No glass left ; glass couldn't stand such a bombardment; 
it was all shivered out. Windows of the houses vacant — looked 
like eyeholes in a skull. Whole panes were as scarce as news. 

We had church Sundays. Not many there, along at first ; but 
by and by pretty good turnouts. I've seen service stop a minute, 
and eveiy body sit quiet — no voice heard, pretty funeral-like then — 
and all the more so on account of the awful boom and crash going 
on outside and overhead ; and pretty soon, when a body could be 
heard, service would go on again. Organs and church-music 
mixed up with a bombardment is a powerful queer combination — 
along at first. Coming out of church, one morning, we had an 
accident — the only one that happened around me on a Sunday. I 
was just having a hearty hand-shake with a friend I hadn't seen 
for a while, and saying, " Drop into our cave to-night, after bom- 
bardment ; we've got hold of a pint of prime wh " Whiskey, 

I was going to say, you know, but a shell interrupted. A chunk 
of it cut the man's arm of^, and left it dangling in my hand. And 
do you know the thing that is going to stick the longest in my 
memory, and outlast ever}^ thing else, little and big, I reckon, is the 
mean thought I had then ? It was " the whiskey is saved!' And 
yet, don't you know, it was kind of excusable ; because it was as 
scarce as diamonds, and we had only just that little ; never had 
another taste during the siege. 

Sometimes the caves were desperately crowded, and always hot 
and close. Sometimes a cave had twenty or twenty-five people 
packed into it ; no turning-room for any body ; air so foul, some- 
times, you couldn't have made a candle burn in it. A child was 
born in one of those caves one night. Think of that ; why, it was 
like having it born in a trunk. 

Twice we had sixteen people in our cave ; and a number of 
times we had a dozen. Pretty suffocating in there. We always 
had eight ; eight belonged there. Hunger and misery and sickness 
and fright and sorrow, and I don't know what all, got so loaded 
into them that none of them were ever rightly their old selves 
after the siege. They all died but three of us within a couple of 
years. One night a shell burst in front of the hole and caved it in 



266 



and stopped it up. It was lively times, for a while, digging out. 
Some of us came near smothering. After that we made two open- 
ings — ought to have thought of it at first. 

Mule meat ? No, we only got down to that the last day or two. 
Of course it was good ; any thing is good when you are starving. 

This man had kept a diary during — six weeks ? No, 
only the first six days. The first day, eight close pages; 
the second, five; the thiVd, one — loosely written; the 
fourth, three or four lines; a line or two the fifth and 
sixth days: seventh day, diary abandoned; life in terrific 
Vicksburg having now become commonplace and matter 
of course. 

The war history of Vicksburg has more about it to 
interest the general reader than that of any other of the 
river-towns. It is full of variety, full of incident, full of 
the picturesque. Vicksburg held out longer than any 
other important river-town, and saw warfare in all its 
phases, both land and water — the siege, the mine, the 
assault, the repulse, the bombardment, sickness, captivity, 
famine. 

The most beautiful of all the national cemeteries is 
here. Over the great gateway is this inscription : 

"here rest in peace 16,600 WHO DIED FOR THEIR 
COUNTRY IN THE YEARS 1861 TO 1865." 

The grounds are nobly situated; being very high and 
commanding a wide prospect of land and river. They 
are tastefully laid out in broad terraces, with winding 
roads and paths; and there is profuse adornment in the 
way of semi-tropical shrubs and flowers; and in one part 
is a piece of native wild-wood, left just as it grew, and, 
therefore, perfect in its charm. Every thing about this 
cemetery suggests the hand of the national Government. 
The Government's work is always conspicuous for excel- 



267 



lence, solidity, thoroughness, neatness. The Govern- 
ment does its work well in the first place, and then takes 
care of it. 

By winding roads — which were often cut to so great 
a depth between perpendicular walls that they were mere 
roofless tunnels — we drove out a mile or two and visited 
the monument which stands upon the scene of the 
surrender of Vicksburg to General Grant by General 
Pemberton. Its metal will preserve it from the hackings 
and chippings which so defaced its predecessor, which 
was of marble; but the brick foundations are crumbling, 
and it will tumble down by and by. It overlooks a 
picturesque region of wooded hills and ravines; and is 
not unpicturesque itself, being well smothered in flower- 
ing weeds. The battered remnant of the marble monu- 
ment has been removed to the National Cemetery. 

On the road, a quarter of a mile townward, an aged 
colored man showed us, with pride, an unexploded bomb- 
shell which had lain in his yard since the day it fell there 
during the siege. 

*'I was a-stannin' heah, an' de dog was a-stannin' heah; 
de dog he went for de shell, gwine to pick a fuss wid it; 
but I didn't; I says, ' Jes' make youseff at home heah; 
lay still whah you is, or bust up de place, jes' as you's 
a mind to, but /'s got business out in de woods, / has! ' " 

Vicksburg is a town of substantial business streets 
and pleasant residences; it commands the commerce of 
the Yazoo and Sunflower Rivers; is pushing railways in 
several directions, through rich agricultural regions, and 
has a promising future of prosperity and importance. 

Apparently, nearly all the river towns, big and little, 
have made up their minds that they must look mainly to 
railroads for wealth and upbuilding, henceforth. They 
are acting upon this idea. The signs are that the next 
twenty years will bring about some noteworthy changes 



268 



in the Valley, in the direction of increased population 
and wealth, and in the intellectual advancement and the 
liberalizing of opinion which go naturally with these. 
And yet, if one may judge by the past, the river towns 
will manage to find and use a chance, here and there, to 
cripple and retard their progress. They kept themselves 
back in the days of steamboating supremacy, by a system 
of wharfage dues so stupidly graded as to prohibit what 
may be called small retail traffic in freights and passen- 
gers. Boats were charged such heavy wharfage that they 
could not afford to land for one or two passengers or a 
light lot of freight. Instead of encouraging the bringing 
of trade to their doors, the towns diligently and effect- 
ively discouraged it. They could have had many boats 
and low rates; but their policy rendered few boats and 
high rates compulsory. It was a policy which ex- 
tended — and extends — from New Orleans to St. Paul. 

We had a strong desire to make a trip up the Yazoo 
and the Sunflower — an interesting region at any time, 
but additionally interesting at this time, because up there 
the great inundation was still to be seen in force — but we 
were nearly sure to have to wait a day or more for a New 
Orleans boat on return; so we were obliged to give up 
the project. 

Here is a story which I picked up on board the boat 
that night. I insert it in this place merely because it is 
a good story, not because it belongs here — for it doesn't. 
It was told by a passenger, — a college professor, — and was 
called to the surface in the course of a general conversa- 
tion which began with talk about horses, drifted into talk 
about astronomy, then into talk about the lynching of 
the gamblers in Vicksburg half a century ago, then into 
talk about dreams and superstitions; and ended, after 
midnight, in a dispute over free trade and protection. 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

THE professor's YARN 

It was in the early days. I was not a college professor 
then. I was a humble-minded young land-surveyor, with 
the world before me — to survey, in case any body wanted 
it done. I had a contract to survey a route for a great 
mining ditch in California, and I was on my way thither, 
by sea — a three or four weeks' voyage. There were a 
good many passengers, but I had very little to say to 
them; reading and dreaming were my passions, and I 
avoided conversation in order to indulge these appetites. 
There were three professional gamblers on board — rough, 
repulsive fellows. I never had any talk with them, yet 
I could not help seeing them with some frequency, for 
they gambled in an upper-deck state-room every day and 
night, and in my promenades I often had glimpses of 
them through their door, which stood a little ajar to let 
out the surplus tobacco smoke and profanity. They 
were an evil and hateful presence, but I had to put up' 
with it, of course. 

There was one other passenger who fell under my eye 
a good deal, for he seemed determined to be friendly 
with me, and I could not have gotten rid of him without 
running some chance of hurting his feelings, and I was 
far from wishing to do that. Besides, there was some- 
thing engaging in his countrified simplicity and his beam- 
ing good-nature. The first time I saw this Mr. John 
Backus, I guessed, from his clothes and his looks, that 
he was a grazier or farmer from the backwoods of some 
western State, — doubtless Ohio, — and afterward, when he 



270 



dropped into his personal history, and I discovered that 
he was a cattle-raiser from interior Ohio, I was so pleased 
with my own penetration that I warmed toward him for 
verifying my instinct. 

He got to dropping alongside me every day, after 
breakfast, to help me make my promenade; and so, in 
the course of time, his easy-working jaw had told me 
every thing about his business, his prospects, his family, 
his relatives, his politics — in fact every thing that con- 
cerned a Backus, living or dead. And meantime I think 
he had managed to get out of me every thing I knew 
about my trade, my tribe, my purposes, my prospects, 
and myself. He was a gentle and persuasive genius, and 
this thing showed it; for I was not given to talking about 
my matters. I said something about triangulation, once; 
the stately word pleased his ear; he enquired what it 
meant; I explained. After that he quietly and inoffen- 
sively ignored my name, and always called me Triangle. 

What an enthusiast he was in cattle ! At the bare 
name of a bull or a cow, his eye would light and his 
eloquent tongue would turn itself loose. As long as 
I would walk and listen, he would walk and talk; he 
knew all breeds, he loved all breeds, he caressed them 
all with his affectionate tongue. I tramped along in 
voiceless misery while the cattle question was up. When 
I could endure it no longer, I used to deftly insert a 
scientific topic into the conversation; then my eye fired 
and his faded; my tongue fluttered, his stopped; life was 
a joy to me, and a sadness to him. 

One day he said, a little hesitatingly, and with some- 
what of diffidence : 

** Triangle, would you mind coming down to my state- 
room a minute and have a little talk on a certain matter ? " 

I went with him at once. Arrived there, he put his 
head out, glanced up and down the saloon warily, then 



271 



closed the door and locked it. We sat down on the sofa 
and he said : 

''I'm a-going to make a little proposition to you, and 
if it strikes you favorable, it '11 be a middling good thing 
for both of us. You ain't a-going out to Californy for 
fun, nuther am I — it's business^ ain't that so ? Well, you 
can do me a good turn, and so can I you, if we see fit. 
I've raked and scraped and saved a considerable many 
years, and I've got it all here." He unlocked an old hair 
trunk, tumbled a chaos of shabby clothes aside, and drew 
a short, stout bag into view for a moment, then buried it 
again and relocked the trunk. Dropping his voice to 
a cautious, low tone, he continued: "She's all there — a 
round ten thousand dollars in yellow-boys; now, this is 
my little idea : What I don't know about raising cattle 
ain't worth knowing. There's mints of money in it in 
Californy. Well, I know, and you know, that all along a 
line that's being surveyed, there's little dabs of land that 
they call 'gores,' that fall to the surveyor free gratis for 
nothing. All you've got to do on your side is to survey 
in such a way that the ' gores ' will fall on good fat land, 
then you turn 'em over to me, I stock 'em with cattle, 
i7i rolls the cash, I plank out your share of the dollars 
regular right along, and " 

I was sorry to wither his blooming enthusiasm, but it 
could not be helped. I interrupted and said severely : 

" I am not that kind of a surveyor. Let us change the 
subject, Mr. Backus." 

It was pitiful to see his confusion and hear his awkward 
and shamefaced apologies. I was as much distressed 
as he was — especially as he seemed so far from having 
suspected that there was any thing improper in his prop- 
osition. So I hastened to console him and lead him on 
to forget his mishap in a conversational orgy about cattle 
and butchery. We were lying at Acapulco, and as we 



272 



went on deck it happened luckily that the crew were 
just beginning to hoist some beeves aboard in slings. 
Backus's melancholy vanished instantly, and with it the 
memory of his late mistake. 

" Now, only look at that ! " cried he. " My goodness, 
Triangle, what would they say to it in Ohio? Wouldn't 
their eyes bug out to see 'em handled like that ? — wouldn't 
they, though ?" 

All the passengers were on deck to look, — even the 
gamblers, — and Backus knew them all, and had afflicted 
them all with his pet topic. As I moved away I saw one 
of the gamblers approach and accost him; then another 
of them ; then the third. I halted, waited, watched; 
the conversation continued between the four men ; it 
grew earnest; Backus drew gradually away; the gamblers 
followed and kept at his elbow. I was uncomfortable. 
However, as they passed me presently, I heard Backus 
say with a tone of persecuted annoyance : 

"But it ain't any use, gentlemen; I tell you again, as 
I've told you a half a dozen times before, I warn't raised 
to it, and I ain't a-going to resk it." 

I felt relieved. " His level head will be his sufficient 
protection," I said to myself. 

During the fortnight's run from Acapulco to San Fran- 
cisco I several times saw the gamblers talking earnestly 
with Backus, and once I threw out a gentle warning to 
him. He chuckled comfortably and said : 

" Oh, yes ! they tag around after me considerable — 
want me to play a little, just for amusement, they say — 
but laws-a-me, if my folks have told me once to look out 
for that sort of live-stock, they've told me a thousand 
times, I reckon." 

By and by, in due course, we were approaching San 
Francisco. It was an ugly, black night, with a strong 
wind blowing, but there was not much sea. I was on 



273 



deck alone. Toward ten I started below. A figure 
issued from the gamblers' den and disappeared in the 
darkness. I experienced a shock, for I was sure it was 
Backus. I flew down the companion-way, looked about 
for him, could not find him, then returned to the deck 
just in time to catch a glimpse of him as he re-entered 
that confounded nest of rascality. Had he yielded at 
last ? I feared it. What had he gone below for ? His 
bag of coin ? Possibly. I drew near the door, full of 
bodings. It was a-crack, and I glanced in and saw a 
sight that made me bitterly wish I had given my attention 
to saving my poor cattle-friend, instead of reading and 
dreaming my foolish time away. He was gambling. 
Worse still, he was being plied with champagne, and was 
already showing some effect from it. He praised the 
*' cider," as he called it, and said now that he had got a 
taste of it he almost believed he would drink it if it was 
spirits, it was so good and so ahead of any thing he had 
ever run across before. Surreptitious smiles at this 
passed from one rascal to another, and they filled all the 
glasses, and w^hile Backus honestly drained his to the 
bottom they pretended to do the same, but threw the 
wine over their shoulders. 

I could not bear the scene, so I wandered forward and 
tried to interest myself in the sea and the voices of the 
wind. But no, my uneasy spirit kept dragging me back 
at quarter-hour intervals, and always I saw Backus drink- 
ing his wine — fairly and squarely, and the others throwing 
theirs away. It was the painfulest night I ever spent. 

The only hope I had was that we might reach our 
anchorage with speed — that would break up the game. 
I helped the ship along all I could with my prayers. At 
last we went booming through the Golden Gate, and my 
pulses leaped for joy. I hurried back to that door and 
glanced in. Alas ! there was small room for hope — 
i8 



^74 



Backus's eyes were heavy and bloodshot, his sweaty face 
was crimson, his speech maudlin and thick, his body 
sawed drunkenly about with the weaving motion of the 
ship. He drained another glass to the dregs, while the 
cards were being dealt. 

He took his hand, glanced at it, and his dull eyes lit up 
fir a moment. The gamblers observed it, and showed 
their gratification by hardly perceptible signs. 

'' How many cards ? " 

" None ! " said Backus. 

One villain — named Hank Wiley — discarded one card, 
the others three each. The betting began. Heretofore 
the bets had been trifling — a dollar or two ; but Backus 
started off with an eagle now, Wiley hesitated a moment, 
then ''saw it," and ''went ten dollars better." The 
other two threw up their hands. 

Backus went twenty better. W^iley said : 

"I see that, and go you a hioidred better ! " then smiled 
and reached for the money. 

"Let it alone," said Backus, with drunken gravity. 

"What ! you mean to say you're going to cover it ? " 

"Cover it ? Well, I reckon I am — and lay another hun- 
dred on top of it, too." 

He reached down inside his overcoat and produced the 
required sum. 

"Oh, that's your little game, is it? I see your raise, 
and raise it five hundred ? " said Wiley. 

" Five hundred better- ! " said the foolish bull-driver, and 
pulled out the amount and showered it on the pile. The 
three conspirators hardly tried to conceal their exultation. 

All diplomacy and pretence were dropped now, and the 
sharp exclamations came thick and fast, and the yellow 
pyramid grew higher and higher. At last ten thousand 
dollars lay in view. Wiley cast a bag of coin on the 
table, and said with mocking gentleness : 



275 



** Five thousand dollars better, my friend from the 
rural districts — what do you say now 2'' 

^^1 call you !" said Backus, heaving his golden shot- 
bag on the pile. '' What have you got ? " 

'' Four kings, you d d fool ! " and Wiley threw 

down his cards and surrounded the stakes with his arms. 

''Four aces^ you ass ! " thundered Backus, covering his 
man with a cocked revolver. ^^ I'm a prof essional gambler 
myself^ and I've been laying for you duffers all this voyage ! " 

Down went the anchor, rumbledy-dum-dum ! and the 
trip was ended. 

Well, well — it is a sad world. One of the three 
gamblers was Backus's ''pal." It was he that dealt the 
fateful hands. According to an understanding with the 
two victims, he was to have given Backus four queens, 
but alas ! he didn't. 

A week later I stumbled upon Backus — arrayed in 
the height of fashion — in Montgomery Street. He said 
cheerily, as we were parting : 

" Ah, by the way, you needn't mind about those gores. 
I don't really know any thing about cattle, except what 
I was able to pick up in a week's apprenticeship over 
in Jersey, just before we sailed. My cattle-culture and 
cattle-enthusiasm have served their turn — I sha'n't need 
them any more." 



Next day we reluctantly parted from the Gold Dust 
and her officers, hoping to see that boat and all those 
officers again, some day. A thing which the fates were 
to render tragically impossible ' 



CHAPTER XXXVII 
THE END OF THE "GOLD DUST " 

For, three months later, August 8, while I was writing 
one of these foregoing chapters, the New York papers 
brought this telegram : 

"A TERRIBLE DISASTER. 

" SEVENTEEN PERSONS KILLED BY AN EXPLOSION ON THE STEAMER 
' GOLD DUST.' 

'* Nashville, August 7. — A despatch from Hickman, 
Ky., says : 

" The steamer Gold Dust exploded her boilers at three o'clock 
to-day, just after leaving Hickman. Forty-Seven persons were 
scalded and seventeen are missing. The boat was landed in the 
eddy just above the town, and through the exertions of the citizens 
the cabin passengers, officers, and part of the crew and deck pas- 
sengers were taken ashore and removed to the hotels and resi- 
dences. Twenty-four of the injured were lying in Holcomb's dry- 
goods store at one time, where they received every attention before 
being removed to more comfortable places." 

A list of the names followed, whereby it appeared that 
of the seventeen dead, one was the barkeeper; and among 
the forty-seven wounded were the captain, chief mate, 
second mate, and second and third clerks; also Mr. Lem. 
S. Gray, pilot, and several members of the crew. 

In answer to a private telegram we learned that none 
of these was severely hurt, except Mr. Gray. Letters 
received afterward confirmed this news, and said that Mr. 
Gray was improving and would get well. Later letters 
spoke less hopefully of his case; and finally came one 
announcing his death. A good man, a most companion- 
able and manly man, and worthy of a kindlier fate. 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 
THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL 

We took passage in a Cincinnati boat for New Orleans; 
or on a Cincinnati boat — eitlier is correct; tlie former is 
the eastern form of putting it, the latter the western. 

Mr. Dickens declined to agree that the Mississippi 
steamboats were ''magnificent," or that they were 
" floating palaces," — terms which had always been applied 
to them; terms which did not over-express the admiration 
with which the people viewed them. 

Mr. Dickens's position was unassailable, possibly; the 
people's position was certainly unassailable. If Mr. 
Dickens was comparing these boats v.'ith the crown 
jewels; or with the Taj, or with the Matterhorn; or with 
some other priceless or wonderful thing which he had 
seen, they were not magnificent — he was right. The 
people compared them with what they had seen; and, 
thus measured, thus judged, the boats were magnifi- 
cent — the term was the correct one, it was not at all too 
strong. The people were as right as was Mr. Dickens. 
The steamboats were finer than any thing on shore. 
Compared with superior dwelling-houses and first class 
hotels in the Valley, they were indubitably magnificent, 
they were ''palaces." To a few people living in New 
Orleans and St. Louis they were not magnificent, per- 
haps; not palaces; but to the great majority of those 
populations, and to the entire populations spread over 
both banks between Baton Rouge and St. Louis, they 
were palaces; they tallied with the citizen's dream of 
what maornificence was, and satisfied it. 



Every town and village along that vast stretch of 
double river-frontage had a best dwelling, finest dwell- 
ing, mansion — the home of its wealthiest and most con- 
spicuous citizen. It is easy to describe it : large grassy 
yard, with paling fence painted white — in fair repair; 
brick walk from gate to door; big, square, two-story 
"frame" house, painted white and porticoed like a 
Grecian temple — with this difference, that the imposing 
fluted columns and Corinthian capitals were a pathetic 
sham, being m.ade of white pine, and painted; iron 
knocker; brass door knob — discolored, for lack of polish- 
ing. Within, an uncarpeted hall, of planed boards; open- 
ing out of it, a parlor, fifteen feet by fifteen — in some 
instances five or ten feet larger; ingrain carpet; maho- 
gany centre-table; lamp on it, with green-paper shade — 
standing on a gridiron, so to speak, made of high-colored 
yarns, by the young ladies of the house, and called a 
lamp-mat; several books, piled and disposed, with cast- 
iron exactness, according to an inherited and unchange- 
able plan; among them, Tupper, much pencilled; also, 
*' Friendship's Offering," and "Affection's Wreath," with 
their sappy inanities illustrated in die-away mezzotints; 
also, Ossian; " Alonzo and Melissa;" maybe "Ivan- 
hoe;" also "Album," full of original " poetry " of the 
Thou-hast-wounded-the-spirit-that-loved-thee breed; two 
or three goody-goody works — " Shepherd of Salisbury 
Plain," etc. ; current number of the chaste and innocuous 
Godey's "Lady's Book," with painted fashion-plate of 
wax-figure women with mouths all alike — lips and eyelids 
the same size — each five-foot woman with a two-inch 
wedge sticking from under her dress and letting-on to be 
half of her foot. Polished air-tight stove (new and 
deadly invention), with pipe passing through a board 
which closes up the discarded good old fireplace. On 
each end of the wooden mantel, over the fireplace, a large 



279 



basket of peaches and other fruits, natural size, all clone 
in plaster, rudely, or in wax, and painted to resemble the 
originals — which they don't. Over middle of mantel, 
engraving — Washington Crossing the Delaware; on the 
wall by the door, copy of it done in thunder-and-light- 
ning crewels by one of the young ladies — work of art 
which would have made Washington hesitate about cross- 
ing, if he could have foreseen what advantage was going 
to be taken of it. Piano — kettle in disguise — with music, 
bound and unbound, piled on it, and on a stand near by : 
Battle of Prague; Bird Waltz; Arkansas Traveller; Rosin 
the Bow; Marseillaise Hymn; On a Lone Barren Isle (St. 
Helena); The Last Link is Broken; She wore a Wreath 
of Roses the Night when Last We Met; Go, Forget 
Me, Why Should Sorrow o'er that Brow a Shadow Fling; 
Hours there Were to Memory Dearer; Long, Long Ago; 
Days of Absence; A Life on the Ocean Wave, a Home 
on the Rolling Deep; Bird at Sea; and spread open on the 
rack, where the plaintive singer has left it, J^o-hoW on, 
silver moo-hoon, guide the frav-el-lerr his way, etc. Tilted 
pensively against the piano, a guitar — guitar capable of 
playing the Spanish Fandango by itself, if you give it a 
start. Frantic work of art on the wall — pious motto, done 
on the premises, sometimes in colored yarns, sometimes in 
faded grasses: progenitor of the "God Bless Our Home" 
of modern commerce. Framed in black mouldings on 
the wall, other works of art, conceived and committed on 
the premises, by the young ladies; being grim black-and- 
white crayons; landscapes, mostly: lake, solitary sail- 
boat, petrified clouds, pre-geological trees on shore, 
anthracite precipice; name of criminal conspicuous in 
the corner. Lithograph, Napoleon Crossing the Alps. 
Lithograph, The Grave at St. Helena, Steel-plates, 
Trumbull's Battle of Bunker Hill, and the Sally from 
Gibraltar. Copper-plates, Moses Smiting the Rock, and 



2 So 



Return of the Prodigal Son. In big gilt frame, slander 
of the family in oil: papa holding a book (''Constitution 
of the United States"); guitar leaning against mamma, 
blue ribbons fluttering from its neck; the young ladies, 
as children, in slippers and scalloped pantalettes, one 
embracing toy horse, the other beguiling kitten with ball 
of yarn, and both simpering up at mamma, who simpers 
back. These persons all fresh, raw, and red — apparently 
skinned. Opposite, in gilt frame, grandpa and grandma, 
at thirty and twenty-two, stiff, old-fashioned, high- 
collared, puff-sleeved, glaring pallidly out from a back- 
ground of solid Egyptian night. Under a glass French 
clock dome, large bouquet of stiff flowers done in corpsy 
white wax. Pyramidal what-not in the corner, the 
shelves occupied chiefly with bric-a-brac of the period, 
disposed with an eye to best effect : shell, with the 
Lord's Prayer carved on it; another shell — of the long- 
oval sort, narrow, straight orifice, three inches long, 
running from end to end — portrait of Washington carved 
on it; not well done; the shell had Washington's mouth, 
originally — artist should have built to that. These two 
are memorials of the long-ago bridal trip to New Orleans 
and the French Market. Other bric-a-brac : Californian 
''specimens" — quartz, with gold wart adhering; old 
Guinea-gold locket, with circlet of ancestral hair in it; 
Indian arrow-heads, of flint; pair of bead moccasins, from 
uncle who crossed the Plains; three "alum " baskets of 
various colors — being skeleton-frame of wire, clothed-on 
with cubes of crystallized alum in the rock-candy style — 
works of art which were achieved by the young ladies; 
their doubles and duplicates to be found upon all what- 
nots in the land ; convention of desiccated bugs and 
butterflies pinned to a card; painted toy-dog, seated upon 
bellows-attachment — drops its under jaw and squeaks 
when pressed upon; sugar-candy rabbit — limbs and 



28l 



features merged together, not strongly defined; pewter 
presidential-campaign medal; miniature card-board wood- 
sawyer, to be" attached to the stove-pipe and operated by 
the heat; small Napoleon, done in wax; spread-open 
daguerreotypes of dim children, parents, cousins, aunts, 
and friends, in all attitudes but customary ones; no 
templed portico at back, and manufactured landscape 
stretching away in the distance — that came in later, with 
the photograph; all these vague figures lavishly chained 
and ringed — metal indicated and secured from doubt by 
stripes and splashes of vivid gold bronze; all of them too 
much combed, too much fixed up; and all of them uncom- 
fortable in inflexible Sunday clothes of a pattern which 
the spectator cannot realize could ever have been in 
fashion; husband and wife generally grouped together — 
husband sitting, wife standing, with hand on his shoul- 
der — and both preserving, all these fading years, some 
traceable effect of the daguerreotypist's brisk "Now 
smile, if you please!" Bracketed over what-not — place 
of special sacredness — an outrage in water-color, done by 
the young niece that came on a visit long ago, and died. 
Pity, too; for she might have repented of this in time. 
Horse-hair chairs, horse-hair sofa which keeps sliding 
from under you. Window shades, of oil stuff, with milk- 
maids and ruined castles stencilled on them in fierce 
colors. Lambrequins dependent from gaudy boxings of 
beaten tin, gilded. Bedrooms with rag carpets; bed- 
steads of the " corded " sort, with a sag in the middle, the 
cords needing tightening; snuffy feather-bed — not aired 
often enough; cane-seat chairs, splint-bottomed rocker; 
looking-glass on wall, school-slate size, veneered frame; 
inherited bureau ; wash-bowl and pitcher, possibly — but 
not certainly; brass candlestick, tallow candle, snuffers. 
Nothing else in the room. Not a bathroom in the house; 
and no visitor likely to come along who has ever seen one. 



282 



That was the residence of the principal citizen, all the 
way from the suburbs of New Orleans to the edge of St. 
Louis. When he stepped aboard a big fine steamboat, he 
entered a new and marvellous world: chimney-tops cut 
to counterfeit a spraying crown of plumes — and maybe 
painted red; pilot-house, hurricane deck, boiler-deck 
guards, all garnished with white wooden filigree work of 
fanciful patterns; gilt acorns topping the derricks; gilt 
deer-horns over the big bell; gaudy symbolical picture on 
the paddle-box, possibly; big roomy boiler-deck, painted 
blue, and furnished with Windsor arm-chairs; inside, a 
far receding snow-white ''cabin"; porcelain knob and 
oil-picture on every state-room door; curving patterns of 
filigree-work touched up with gilding, stretching over- 
head all down the converging vista; big chandeliers every 
little way, each an April shower of glittering glass-drops; 
lovely rainbow-light falling everywhere from the colored 
glazing of the skylights; the whole a long-drawn, resplen- 
dent tunnel, a bewildering and soul-satisfying spectacle! 
in the ladies' cabin a pink and white Wilton carpet, as 
soft as mush, and glorified with a ravishing pattern of 
gigantic flovv^ers. Then the Bridal Chamber — the animal 
that invented that idea was still alive and unhanged, at 
that day — Bridal Chamber whose pretentious flummery 
was necessarily overawing to the now tottering intellect 
of that hosannahing citizen. Every state-room had its 
couple of cosey clean bunks, and perhaps a looking-glass 
and a snug closet; and sometimes there was even a wash- 
bowl and pitcher, and part of a towel which could be told 
from mosquito netting by an expert — though generally 
these things were absent, and the shirt-sleeved passen- 
gers cleansed themselves at a long row of stationary bowls 
in the barber shop, where were also public towels, public 
combs, and public soap. 

Take the steamboat which I have just described, and 



283 



you have her in her highest and finest, and most pleasing, 
and comfortable, and satisfactory estate. Now cake her 
over with a layer of ancient and obdurate dirt, and you 
have the Cincinnati steamer awhile ago referred to. Not 
all over — only inside; for she was ably officered in all 
departments except the steward's. 

But wash that boat and repaint her, and she would be 
about the counterpart of the most complimented boat of 
the old flush times: for the steamboat architecture of the 
West has undergone no change; neither has steamboat 
furniture and ornamentation undergone any. 



I 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

MANUFACTURES AND MISCREANTS 

Where the river, in the Vicksburg region, used to be 
corkscrewed, it is now comparatively straight — made so 
by cut-off; a former distance of seventy miles is reduced 
to thirty-five. It is a change which threw Vicksburg's 
neighbor. Delta, La., out into the country and ended 
its career as a river town. Its whole river-frontage 
is now occupied by a vast sand-bar, thickly covered 
with young trees — a growth which will magnify itself into 
a dense forest, by and by, and completely hide the exiled 
town. 

In due time we passed Grand Gulf and Rodney, of war 
fame, and reached Natchez, the last of the beautiful hill-j 
cities — for Baton Rouge, yet to come, is not on a hill, 
but only on high ground. Famous Natchez-under-the- 
hill has not changed notably in twenty years; in outward] 
aspect — judging by the descriptions of the ancient pro- 
cession of foreign tourists — it has not changed in sixty ;| 
for it is still small, straggling, and shabby. It had a 
desperate reputation, morally, in the old keel-boating 
and early steamboating times — plenty of drinking, carous- 
ing, fisticuffing, and killing there, among the riff-raff of 
the river, in those days. But Natchez-on-top-of-the-hill 
is attractive; has always been attractive. Even Mrs. 
Trollope (1827) had to confess its charms : 

At one or two points the wearisome level line is relieved by 
bluffs, as they call the short intervals of high ground. The town 
of Natchez is beautifully situated on one of those high spots. The 



285 



contrast that its bright green hill forms with the dismal line of 
black forest that stretches on every side, the abundant growth of 
the paw-paw, palmetto, and orange, the copious variety of sweet- 
scented fiowers that flourish there, all make it appear like an oasis 
in the desert. Natchez is the furthest point to the north at which 
oranges ripen in the open air, or endure the winter without shelter. 
With the exception of this sweet spot, I thought all the little towns 
and villages we passed wretched-looking in the extreme. 

Natchez, like her near and far river neighbors, has 
railways now, and is adding to them — pushing them 
hither and thither into all rich outlying regions that are 
naturally tributary to her. And like Vicksburg and New 
Orleans, she has her ice-factory; she makes thirty tons 
of ice a day. In Vicksburg and Natchez, in my time, ice 
was jewelry; none but the rich could wear it. But any- 
body and every-body can have it now. I visited one of 
the ice-factories in New Orleans, to see what the polar 
regions might look like when lugged into the edge of the 
tropics. But there was nothing striking in the aspect of 
the place. It was merely a spacious house, with some 
innocent steam machinery in one end of it and some big 
porcelain pipes running here and there. No, not por- 
celain — they merely seemed to be; they were iron, but 
the ammonia which was being breathed through them had 
coated them to the thickness of your hand with soUd 
milk-\vhite ice. It ought to have melted; for one did 
not require winter clothing in that atmosphere: but it did 
not melt; the inside of the pipe was too cold. 

Sunk into the floor were numberless tin boxes, a foot 
square and two feet long, and open at the top end. 
These were full of clear water; and around each box, salt 
and other proper stuff was packed; also, the ammonia 
gases were applied to the water in some way which will 
always remain a secret to me, because I was not able to 
understand the process. While the water in the boxes 



286 



gradually froze, men gave it a stir or two with a stick 
occasionally — to liberate the air-bubbles, I think. Other 
men were continually lifting out boxes whose contents 
had become hard frozen. They gave the box a single dip 
into a vat of boiling water, to melt the block of ice free 
from its tin coffin, then they shot the block out upon a 
platform car, and it was ready for market. These big 
blocks were hard, solid, and crystal-clear. In certain of 
them, big bouquets of fresh and brilliant tropical flowers 
had been frozen-in; in others, beautiful silken-clad French 
dolls, and other pretty objects. These blocks were to be 
set on end in a platter, in the centre of dinner-tables, to 
cool the tropical air; and also to be ornamental, for the 
flowers and things imprisoned in them could be seen as 
through plate glass. I was told that this factory could 
retail its ice, by wagon, throughout New Orleans, in the 
humblest dwelling house quantities, at six or seven dollars 
a ton, and make a sufficient profit. This being the case, 
there is business for ice factories in the North; for we 
get ice on no such terms there, if one take less than three 
hundred and fifty pounds at a delivery. 

The Rosalie Yarn Mill, of Natchez, has a capacity of 
6000 spindles and 160 looms, and employs 100 hands. 
The Natchez Cotton Mills Company began operations 
four years ago in a two-story building of 50X190 feet, 
with 4000 spindles and 128 looms; capital $105,000, all 
subscribed in the town. Two years later, the same stock- 
holders increased their capital to $225,000; added a third 
story to the mill, increased its length to 317 feet; added 
machinery to increase the capacity to 10,300 spindles and 
304 looms. The company now employ 250 operatives, 
many of whom are citizens of Natchez. '' The mill 
works 5000 bales of cotton annually and manufactures 
the best standard quality of brown shirtings and sheetings 
and drills, turning out 5,000,000 yards of these goods per 



287 



year."*- A close corporation — stock held at $5000 per 
share, but none in the market. 

The changes in the Mississippi River are great and 
strange, yet were to be expected; but I was not expect- 
ing to live to see Natchez and these other river towns 
become manufacturing strongholds and railway centres. 

Speaking of manufactures reminds me of a talk upon 
that topic which I heard — which I overheard — on board 
the Cincinnati boat. I awoke out of a fretted sleep, with 
a dull confusion of voices in my ears. I listened — two 
men were talking; subject, apparently, the great inunda- 
tion. I looked out through the open transom. The two 
men were eating a late breakfast; sitting opposite each 
other; nobody else around. They closed up the inunda- 
tion with a few words — having used it, evidently, as a 
mere ice-breaker and acquaintanceship-breeder — then 
they dropped into business. It soon transpired that they 
were drummers — one belonging in Cincinnati, the other 
in New Orleans. Brisk men, energetic of movement 
and speech; the dollar their god, how to get it their 
religion. 

*' Now as to this article," said Cincinnati, slashing into 
the ostensible butter and holding forward a slab of it on 
his knife -blade, ''it's from our house; look at it — smell 
of it — taste it. Put any test on it you want to. Take 
your own time — no hurry — make it thorough. There 
now — what do you say ? butter, ain't it ? Not by a thun- 
dering sight — it's oleomargarine ! Yes, sir, that's what 
it is — oleomargarine. You can't tell it from butter; by 
George, an expert ZdiXit ! It's from our house. We supply 
most of the boats in the West; there's hardly a pound of 
butter on one of them. We are crawling right along — 
jumping right along is the word. We are going to have 
that entire trade. Yes, and the hotel trade, too. You 
* New Orleans Times-Democrat, August 26, 1882. 



288 



are going to see the day, pretty soon, when you can't find 
an ounce of butter to bless yourself with, in any hotel in 
the Mississippi and Ohio Valleys, outside of the biggest 
cities. Why, we are turning out oleomargarine nonj by 
the thousands of tons. And we can sell it so dirt-cheap 
that the whole country has ^^/ to take it — can't get around 
it, you see. Butter don't stand any show — there ain't any 
chance for competition. Butter's had its day — and from 
this out, butter goes to the wall. There's more money 
in oleomargarine than — why, you can't imagine the busi- 
ness we do. I've stopped in every town, from Cincinnati 
to Natchez; and I've sent home big orders from every 
one of them." 

And so forth and so on, for ten minutes longer, in the 
same fervid strain. Then New Orleans piped up and said : 

''Yes, it's a first-rate imitation, that's a certainty; but 
it ain't the only one around that's first-rate. For in- 
stance, they make olive-oil out of cotton-seed oil, nowa- 
days, so that you can't tell them apart." 

"Yes, that's so," responded Cincinnati, "and it was 
a tip-top business for a while. They sent it over and 
brought it back from France and Italy, with the United 
States custom-house mark on it to indorse it for genuine, 
and there was no end of cash in it ; but France and Italy 
broke up the game — of course they naturally would. 
Cracked on such a rattling impost that cotton-seed 
olive-oil couldn't stand the raise ; had to hang up and 
quit." 

"Oh, it did^ did it? You w^ait here a minute." 

Goes to his state-room, brings back a couple of long 
bottles, and takes out the corks — says: 

"There now, smell them, taste them, examine the 
bottles, inspect the labels. One of 'm's from Europe, 
the other's never been out of this country. One's Euro- 
pean olive-oil, the other's American cotton-seed olive- 



289 



oil. Tell 'm apart ? 'Course you can't. Nobody can. 
People that want to, can go to the expense and trouble 
of shipping their oils to Europe and back — it's their 
privilege; but our firm knows a trick worth six of that. 
We turn out the whole thing — clean from the word go — 
in our factory in New Orleans: labels, bottles, oil, every- 
thing. Well, no, not labels: been buying the7n abroad — 
get them dirt-cheap there. You see there's just one 
little wee speck, essence, or whatever it is, in a gallon 
of cotton-seed oil, that gives it a smell, or a flavor, or 
something — get that out, and you're all right — perfectly 
easy then to turn the oil into any kind of oil you want 
to, and there ain't anybody that can detect the true from 
the false. Well, we know how to get that one little 
particle out — and we're the only firm that does. And we 
turn out an olive-oil that is just simply perfect — undetect- 
able ! We are doing a ripping trade, too — as I could 
easily show you by my order-book for this trip. Maybe 
you'll butter every-body's bread pretty soon, but we'll 
cotton-seed his salad for him from the Gulf to Canada, 
that's a dead-certain thing." 

Cincinnati glowed and flashed with admiration. The 
two scoundrels exchanged business-cards, and rose. As 
they left the table, Cincinnati said: 

"But you have to have custom-house marks, don't 
you ? How do you manage that ?" 

I did not catch the answer. 

We passed Port Hudson, scene of two of the most 
terrific episodes of the war — the night-battle there be- 
tween Farragut's fleet and the Confederate land batteries, 
April 14, 1863; and the memorable land battle, two 
months later, which lasted eight hours, — eight hours of 
exceptionally fierce and stubborn fighting, — and ended, 
finally, in the repulse of the Union forces with great 
slaughter. 

19 



CHAPTER XL 
CASTLES AND CULTURE 

Baton Rouge was clothed in flowers, like a bride — 
no, much more so; like a greenhouse. For we were in 
the absolute South now — no modifications, no compro- 
mises, no half-way measures. The magnolia trees in the 
Capitol grounds were lovely and fragrant, with their 
dense rich foliage and huge snow-ball blossoms. The 
scent of the flower is very sweet, but you want distance 
on it, because it is so powerful. They are not good bed- 
room blossoms — they might suffocate one in his sleep. 
We were certainly in the South at last; for here the 
sugar region begins, and the plantations — vast green 
levels, with sugar-mill and negro quarters clustered to- 
gether in the middle distance — were in view. And there 
was a tropical sun overhead and a tropical swelter in 
the air. 

And at this point, also, begins the pilot's paradise : a 
wide river hence to New Orleans, abundance of water 
from shore to shore, and no bars, snags, sawyers, or 
wrecks in his road. 

Sir Walter Scott is probably responsible for the Capitol 
building; for it is not conceivable that this little sham 
castle would ever have been built if he had not run the 
people mad, a couple of generations ago, with his mediae- 
val romances. The South has not yet recovered from 
the debilitating influence of his books. Admiration of 
his fantastic heroes and their grotesque "chivalry" 
doings and romantic juvenilities still survives here, in an 
atmosphere in which is already perceptible the whole- 



291 



some and practical nineteenth-century smell of cotton- 
factories and locomotives; and traces of its inflated 
language and other windy humbuggeries survive along 
with it. It is pathetic enough that a whitewashed castle, 
with turrets and things, — materials all ungenuine within 
and without, pretending to be what they are not, — 
should ever have been built in this otherwise honorable 
place; but it is much more pathetic to see this archi- 
tectural falsehood undergoing restoration and perpetua- 
tion in our day, when it would have been so easy to let 
dynamite finish what a charitable fire began, and then 
devote this restoration-money to the building of some- 
thing genuine. 

Baton Rouge has no patent on imitation castles, how- 
ever, and no monopoly of them. The following remark 
is from the advertisement of the '' Female Institute" of 
Columbia, Tenn. 

The Institute building has long been famed as a model of 
striking and beautiful architecture. Visitors are charmed with its 
resemblance to the old castles of song and story, with its towers, 
turreted walls, and ivy-mantled porches. 

Keeping school in a castle is a romantic thing; as 
romantic as keeping hotel in a castle. 

By itself the imitation castle is doubtless harmless, and 
well enough; but as a symbol and breeder and sustainer 
of maudlin Middle-Age romanticism here in the midst of 
the plainest and sturdiest and infinitely greatest and 
worthiest of all the centuries the world has seen, it is 
necessarily a hurtful thing and a mistake. 

Here is an extract from the prospectus of a Kentucky 
" Female College." Female college sounds well enough; 
but since the phrasing it in that unjustifiable way was 
done purely in the interest of brevity, it seems to me 
that she-college would have been still better — because 



292 



shorter, and means the same thing: that is, if either 
phrase means any thing at all: 

The president is Southern by birth, by rearing, by education, 
and by sentiment ; the teachers are all Southern in sentiment, and 
with the exception of those born in Europe were born and raised 
in the South. Believing the Southern to be the highest type of 
civilization this continent has seen,* the young ladies are trained 
according to the Southern ideas of delicacy, refinement, woman- 
hood, religion, and propriety ; hence we offer a first-class female 
college for the South and solicit Southern patronage. 

What, warder, ho ! the man that can blow so compla- 
cent a blast as that, probably blows it from a castle. 

From Baton Rouge to New Orleans, the great sugar 
plantations border both sides of the river all the way, 

* Illustrations of it thoughtlessly omitted by the advertiser : 
" Knoxville, Tenn., Octoberig. — This morning, a few minutes after 
ten o'clock, General Joseph A. Mabry, Thomas O'Connor, and Joseph 
A. Mabry, Jr., were killed in a shooting affray. The difificulty began 
yesterday afternoon by General Mabry attacking Major O'Connor and! 
threatening to kill him. This was at the fair grounds, and O'Connor! 
told Mabry that it was not the place to settle their difficulties. Mabry 
then told O'Connor he should not live. It seems that Mabry was armed 
and O'Connor was not. The cause of the difficulty was an old feud 
about the transfer of some property from Mabry to O'Connor. Later in 
the afternoon Mabry sent word to O'Connor that he would kill him on 
sight. This morning Major O'Connor was standing in the door of the 
Mechanics' Nati6nal Bank, of which he was president. General Mabry 
and another gentleman walked down Gay Street on the opposite side 
from the bank. O'Connor stepped into the bank, got a shot gun, took 
deliberate aim at General Mabry and fired. Mabry fell dead, being 
shot in the left side. As he fell O'Connor fired again, the shot taking 
effect in Mabry's thigh. O'Connor then reached into the bank and got 
another shot gun. About this time, Joseph A. Mabry, Jr., son of 
General Mabry, came rushing down the street, unseen by O'Connor 
until within forty feet, when the young man fired a pistol, the shot 
taking effect in O'Connor's right breast, passing through the body near 



293 



and stretch their league-wide levels back to the dim 
forest-walls of bearded cypress in the rear. Shores 
lonely no longer. Plenty of dwellings all the way, on 
both banks — standing so close together, for long dis- 
tances, that the broad river lying between the two rows 
becomes a sort of spacious street. A most homelike 
and happy-looking region. And now and then you see 
a pillared and porticoed great manor house, embowered 
in trees. Here is testimony of one or two of the proces- 
sion of foreign tourists that filed along here half a cen- 
tury ago. Mrs. Trollope says : 

The unbroken flatness of the banks of the Mississippi con- 
tinued unvaried for many miles above New Orleans ; but the 
graceful and luxuriant palmetto, the dark and noble ilex, and the 

the heart. The instant Mabry shot, O'Connor turned and fired, the 
load taking effect in young Mabry's right breast and side. Mabry fell, 
pierced with twenty buckshot, and almost instantly O'Connor fell dead 
without a struggle. Mabry tried to rise, but fell back dead. The whole 
tragedy occurred within two minutes, and neither of the three spoke 
after he was shot. General Mabry had about thirty buckshot in his body. 
A bystander was painfully wounded in the thigh with a buckshot, and 
another was wounded in the arm. Four other men had their clothing 
pierced by buckshot. The affair caused great excitement, and Gay 
Street was thronged with thousands of people. General Mabry and his 
son Joe were acquitted only a few days ago of the murder of Moses 
Lusby and Don Lusby, father and son, whom they killed a few weeks 
ago. Will Mabry was killed by Don Lusby last Christmas. Major 
Thomas O'Connor was President of the Mechanics' National Bank here, 
and the wealthiest man in the State." — Associated Press Telegram. 

One day last month Professor Sharpe of the Somerville, Tenn., 
Female College, " a quiet and gentlemanly man," was told that his 
brother-in-law, a Captain Burton, had threatened to kill him. Burton, 
it seems, had already killed one man and driven his knife into another. 
The professor armed himself with a double-barrelled shot gun, started 
out in search of his brother-in-law, found him playing billiards in a 
saloon, and blew his brains out. The Memphis AvalancJie reports 
that the professor's course met with pretty general approval in the com- 



294 



bright orange, were everywhere to be seen, and it was many days 
before we were weary of looking at them. 

Captain Basil Hall: 

The district of country which lies adjacent to the Mississippi, 
in the lower parts of Louisiana, is everywhere thickly peopled by 
sugar planters, whose showy houses, gay piazzas, trig gardens, 
and numerous slave-villages, all clean and neat, gave an exceed- 
ingly thriving air to the river scenery. 

All the procession paint the attractive picture in the 
same way. The descriptions of fifty years ago do not 
need to have a word changed in order to exactly describe 
the same region as it appears to-day — except as to the 
" trigness " of the houses. The whitewash is gone from 

munity ; knowing that the law was powerless, in the actual condition of 
public sentiment, to protect him, he protected himself. 

About the same time, two young men in North Carolina quarrelled 
about a girl, and "hostile messages" were exchanged. Friends tried 
to reconcile them, but had their labor for their pains. On the 24th the 
young men met in the public highway. One of them had a heavy club 
in his hand, the other an axe. The man with the club fought desper- 
ately for his life, but it was a hopeless fight from the first. A well- 
directed blow sent his club whirling out of his grasp, and the next 
moment he was a dead man. 

About the same time, two " highly connected " young Virginians, 
clerks in a hardware store at Charlottesville, while " skylarking," came 
to blows. Peter Dick threw pepper in Charles Roads's eyes ; Roads 
demanded an apology ; Dick refused to give it, and it was agreed that 
a duel was inevitable, but a difificulty arose ; the parties had no pistols, 
and it was too late at night to procure them. One of them suggested 
that butcher-knives would answer the purpose, and the other accepted 
the suggestion ; the result was that Roads fell to the. floor with a gash 
in his abdomen that may or may not prove fatal. If Dick has been 
arrested, the news has not reached us. He "expressed deep regret," 
and we are told by a Staunton correspondent of the Philadelphia Press 
that "every effort has been made to hush the matter up." — Extracts 
from the Public Journals. 



295 



the negro cabins now; and many, possibly most of the 
big mansions, once so shining white, have worn out their 
paint and have a decayed, neglected look. It is the 
blight of the war. Twenty-one years ago everything was 
trim and trig and bright along the *' coast," just as it had 
been in 1827, as described by those tourists. 

Unfortunate tourists ! People humbugged them with 
stupid and silly lies, and then laughed at them for 
believing and printing the same. They told Mrs. Trol- 
lope that the alligators — or crocodiles, as she calls them — 
were terrible creatures; and backed up the statement 
with a blood-curdling account of how one of these 
slandered reptiles crept into a squatter cabin one night, 
and ate up a woman and five children. The woman, by 
herself, would have satisfied any ordinarily impossible 
alligator; but no, these liars must make him gorge the 
five children besides. One would not imagine that 
jokers of this robust breed would be sensitive — but they 
were. It is difficult, at this day, to understand, and 
impossible to justify, the reception which the book of the 
grave, honest, intelligent, gentle, manly, charitable, well- 
meaning Captain Basil Hall got. Mrs. Trollope's account 
of it may perhaps entertain the reader: therefore I have 
put it in the Appendix.* 

*See Appendix C. 



CHAPTER XLI 
THE METROPOLIS OF THE SOUTH 

The approaches to New Orleans were familiar; general 
aspects were unchanged. When one goes flying through 
London along a railway propped in the air on tall arches, 
he may inspect miles of upper bedrooms through the 
open windows, but the lower half of the houses is under 
his level and out of sight. Similarly, in high-river stage, 
in the New Orleans region, the water is up to the top of 
the enclosing levee-rim, the flat country behind it lies 
lovv^, — representing the bottom of a dish, — and as the boat 
swims along, high on the flood, one looks down upon the 
houses and into the upper window^s. There is nothing 
but that frail breastwork of earth between the people and 
destruction. 

The old brick salt-warehouses clustered at the upper 
end of the city looked as they had always looked: ware- 
houses which had had a kind of Aladdin's lamp experi- 
ence, however, since I had seen them; for when the war 
broke out the proprietor went to bed one night leaving 
them packed with thousands of sacks of vulgar salt, worth 
a couple of dollars a sack, and got up in the morning and 
found his mountain of salt turned into a mountain of 
gold, so to speak, so suddenly and to so dizzy a height 
had the war news sent up the price of the article. 

The vast reach of plank wharves remained unchanged, 
and there were as many ships as ever : but the long array 
of steamboats had vanished ; not altogether, of course, but 
not much of itjvas left. 

The city itself had not changed — to the eye. It had 



297 



greatly increased in spread and population, but the look 
of the town was not altered. The dust, waste-paper- 
littered, was still deep in the streets; the deep-trough- 
like gutters along the curb-stones were still half full of 
reposeful water with a dusty surface; the sidewalks were 
still — in the sugar and bacon region — encumbered by 
casks and barrels and hogsheads; the great blocks of 
austerely plain commercial houses were as dusty-looking 
as ever. 

Canal Street was finer, and more attractive and stirring 
than formerly, with its drifting crowds of people, its 
several processions of hurrying street-cars, and — toward 
evening — its broad second-story verandas crowded with 
gentlemen and ladies clothed according to the latest 
mode. 

Not that there is any " architecture " in Canal Street: 
to speak in broad, general terms, there is no architecture 
in New Orleans, except in the cemeteries. It seems a 
strange thing to say of a wealthy, far-seeing, and energetic 
city of a quarter of a million inhabitants, but it is true. 
There is a huge granite United States Custom-house — 
costly enough, genuine enough, but as to decoration it is 
inferior to a gasometer. It looks like a state prison. 
But it was built before the war. Architecture in Amer- 
ica may be said to have been born since the war. New 
Orleans, I believe, has had the good luck — and in a sense 
the bad luck — to have had no great fire in late years. It 
must be so. If the opposite had been the case, I think 
one would be able to tell the ''burnt district" by the 
radical improvement in its architecture over the old 
forms. One can do this in Boston and Chicago. The 
''burnt district" of Boston was commonplace before the* 
fire; but now there is no commercial district in any city 
in the world that can surpass it — or perhaps even rival 
it — in beauty, elegance, and tastefulness. 



298 



However, New Orleans has begun — just this moment^ 
as one may say. When completed, the new Cotton 
Exchange will be a stately and beautiful building : mas- 
sive, substantial, full of architectural graces; no shams 
or false pretences or uglinesses about it anywhere. To 
the city it will be worth many times its cost, for it will 
breed its species. What has been lacking hitherto was 
a model to build toward, something to educate eye and 
taste : a suggester^ so to speak. 

The city is well outfitted with progressive men — 
thinking, sagacious, long-headed men. The contrast 
between the spirit of the city and the city's architecture 
is like the contrast between waking and sleep. Appar- 
ently there is a ''boom" in every thing but that one 
dead feature. The water in the gutters used to be stag- 
nant and slimy, and a potent disease-breeder ; but the 
gutters are flushed now two or three times a day by 
powerful machinery; in many of the gutters the water 
never stands still, but has a steady current. Other sani- 
tary improvements have been made; and with such effect 
that New Orleans claims to be (during the long intervals 
between the occasional yellow-fever assaults) one of the 
healthiest cities in the Union. There's plenty of ice now 
for every-body, manufactured in the town. It is a driving 
place commercially, and has a great river, ocean, and 
railway business. At the date of our visit it was the best 
lighted city in the Union, electrically speaking. The 
New Orleans electric lights were more numerous than 
those of New York, and very much better. One had this 
modified noonday not only in Canal and some neighboring 
chief streets, but all along a stretch of five miles of river 
frontage. There are good clubs in the city now — several 
of them but recently organized — and inviting modern- 
style pleasure resorts at West End and Spanish Fort. 
The telephone is everywhere. One of the most notable 



299 



advances is in journalism. The newspapers, as I remem- 
ber them, were not a striking feature. Now they are. 
Money is spent upon them with a free hand. They get 
the news, let it cost what it may. The editorial work is 
not hack-grinding, but literature. As an example of New 
Orleans journalistic achievement, it may be mentioned 
that the Times- Democrat of August 26, 1882, contained a 
report of the year's business of the towns of the Missis- 
sippi Valley, from New Orleans all the way to St. Paul — 
two thousand miles. That issue of the paper consisted 
oi forty pages; seven columns to the page; two hundred 
and eighty columns in all; fifteen hundred words to the 
column; an aggregate of four hundred and twenty thou- 
sand words. That is to say, not much short of three 
times as many words as are in this book. One may 
with sorrow contrast this with the architecture of New 
Orleans. 

I have been speaking of public architecture only. The 
domestic article in New Orleans is reproachless, notwith- 
standing it remains as it always was. All the dwellings 
are of wood, — in the American part of the town, I mean, — 
and all have a comfortable look. Those in the wealthy 
quarter are spacious ; painted snow-white usually, and 
generally have wide verandas, or double-verandas, sup- 
ported by ornamental columns. These mansions stand 
in the centre of large grounds, and rise, garlanded with 
roses, out of the midst of swelling masses of shining 
green foliage and many-colored blossoms. No houses 
could well be in better harmony with their surroundings, 
or more pleasing to the eye, or more home-like and com- 
fortable-looking. 

One even becomes reconciled to the cistern presently; 
this is a mighty cask, painted green, and sometimes a 
couple of stories high, which is propped against the house- 
corner on stilts. There is a mansion-and-brewery sug- 



300 



gestion about the combination which seems very incon- 
gruous at first. But the people cannot have wells, and 
so they take rain-water. Neither can they conveniently 
have cellars or graves,* the town being built upon 
*' made " ground; so they do without both, and few of 
the living complain, and none of the others. 

* The Israelites are buried in graves — by permission, I take it, not 
requirement; but none else, except the destitute, who are buried at public 
expense. The graves are but three or four feet deep. 



CHAPTER XLII 
HYGIENE AND SENTIMENT 

They bury their dead in vaults, above the ground. 
These vaults have a resemblance to houses — sometimes 
to temples; are built of marble, generally; are architec- 
turally graceful and shapely; they face the walks and 
driveways of the cemetery; and when one moves through 
the midst of a thousand or so of them, and sees their 
white roofs and gables stretching into the distance on 
every hand, the phrase "city of the dead " has all at once 
a meaning to him. Many of the cemeteries are beautiful 
and are kept in perfect order. When one goes from the 
levee or the business streets near it, to a cemetery, he 
observes to himself that if those people down there would 
live as neatly while they are alive as they do after they 
are dead, they would find many advantages in it; and 
besides, their quarter would be the wonder and admira- 
tion of the business world. Fresh flowers, in vases of 
water, are to be seen at the portals of many of the vaults : 
placed there by the pious hands of bereaved parents and 
children, husbands and wives, and renewed daily. A 
milder form of sorrow finds its inexpensive and lasting 
remembrancer in the coarse and ugly but indestructible 
"immortelle " — which is a wreath or cross or some such 
emblem, made of rosettes of black linen, with sometimes 
a yellow rosette at the junction of the cross's bars — 
kind of sorrowful breastpin, so to say. The immortelle 
requires no attention : you just hang it up, and there you 
are; just leave it alone, it will take care of your grief for 



302 



you, and keep it in mind better than you can; stands 
weather first-rate, and lasts like boiler-iron. 

On sunny days, pretty little chameleons — gracefullest 
of legged reptiles — creep along the marble fronts of the 
vaults, and catch flies. Their changes of color — as to 
variety — are not up to the creature's reputation. They 
change color when a person comes along and hangs up an 
immortelle; but that is nothing : any right-feeling reptile 
would do that. 

I will gradually drop this subject of graveyards. I have 
been trying all I could to get down to the sentimental 
part of it, but I cannot accomplish it. I think there is 
no genuinely sentimental part to it. It is all grotesque, 
ghastly, horrible. Graveyards may have been justifiable 
in the bygone ages, when nobody knew that for every 
dead body put into the ground, to glut the earth and the 
plant-roots and the air with disease-germs, five or fifty, 
or maybe a hundred, persons must die before their proper 
time; but they are hardly justifiable now, when even the 
children know that a dead saint enters upon a century- 
long career of assassination the moment the earth closes 
over his corpse. It is a grim sort of a thought. The 
relics of St. Anne, up in Canada, have now, after nineteen 
hundred years, gone to curing the sick by the dozen. 
But it is merest matter-of-course that these same relics, 
within a generation after St. Anne's death and burial, 
made several thousand people sick. Therefore these 
miracle-performances are simply compensation, nothing 
more. St. Anne is somewhat slow pay, for a Saint, it is 
true; but better a debt paid after nineteen hundred years, 
and outlawed by the statute of limitations, than not paid 
at all; and most of the knights of the halo do not pay at 
all. Where you find one that pays— like St. Anne — you 
find a hundred and fifty that take the benefit of the 
statute. And none of them pay any more than the prin- 



303 



cipal of what they owe — they pay none of the interest 
either simple or compound. A Saint can never quite 
return the principal, however, for his dead body kills 
people, whereas his relics heal only — they never restore 
the dead to life. That part of the account is always left 
unsettled. 

Dr. F. Julius Le Moyne, after fifty years of medical practice, 
wrote : " The inhumation of human bodies, dead from infectious 
diseases, results in constantly loading the atmosphere, and pollut- 
ing the waters, with not only the germs that rise from simply 
putrefaction, but also with the specific germs of the diseases from 
which death resulted." 

The gases (from buried corpses) will rise to the surface through 
eight or ten feet of gravel, just as coal-gas will do, and there is 
practically no limit to their power of escape. 

During the epidemic in New Orleans in 1853 Dr. E. H. Barton 
reported that in the Fourth District the mortality was four hundred 
and fifty-two per thousand — more than double that of any other. 
In this district were three large cemeteries, in which during the 
previous year more than three thousand bodies had been buried. 
In other districts the proximity of cemeteries seemed to aggravate 
the disease. 

In 1828 Professor Bianchi demonstrated how the fearful reap- 
pearance of the plague at Modena was caused by excavations in 
ground where, tJwee luuidred years previously, the victims of the 
pestilence had been buried. Mr. Cooper, in explaining the causes 
of some epidemics, remarks that the opening of the plague burial- 
grounds at Eyam resulted in an immediate outbreak of disease. — 
North American Review, No. 3, Vol. 135. 

In an address before the Chicago Medical Society, in 
advocacy of cremation, Dr. Charles W. Purdy made some 
striking comparisons to show what a burden is laid upon 
society by the burial of the dead : 

One and one-fourth times more money is expended annually 
in funerals in the United States than the Government expends 
for public-school purposes. Funerals cost this country in 1880 



304 



enough money to pay the habihties of all the commercial failures 
in the United States during the same year, and give each bankrupt 
a capital of eight thousand six hundred and thirty dollars with 
which to resume business. Funerals cost annually more money 
than the value of the combined gold and silver yield of the 
United States in the year 1880. These figures do not include 
the sums invested in burial-grounds and expended in tombs and 
monuments, nor the loss from depreciation of property in the 
vicinity of cemeteries. 

For the rich, cremation would answer as w^ell as burial; 
for the ceremonies connected with it could be made as 
costly and ostentatious as a Hindoo suttee ; while for the 
poor, cremation would be better than burial, because so 
cheap* — so cheap until the poor got to imitating the 
rich, which they would do by and by. The adoption of 
cremation would relieve us of a muck of threadbare 
burial-witticisms; but, on the other hand, it would resur- 
rect a lot of mildewed old cremation-jokes that have had 
a rest for two thousand years. 

I have a colored acquaintance who earns his living by 
odd jobs and heavy manual labor. He never earns above 
four hundred dollars in a year, and as he has a wife and 
several young children, the closest scrimping is necessary 
to get him through to the end of the twelve months debt- 
less. To such a man a funeral is a colossal financial 
disaster. While I was writing one of the preceding 
chapters, this man lost a little child. He walked the 
town over with a friend, trying to find a coffin that was 
within his means. He bought the very cheapest one he 
could find, plain wood, stained. It cost him twenty-six 
dollars. It would have cost less than four, probably, if 
it had been built to put something useful into. He and 
his family will feel that outlay a good many months. 

* Four or five dollars is the minimum cost. 



CHAPTER XLIII 
THE ART OF INHUMATION 

About the same time I encountered a man in the 
street whom I had not seen for six or seven years; and 
something like this talk followed. I said: 

" But you'used to look sad and oldish; you don't now. 
Where did you get all this youth and bubbling cheerful- 
ness ? Give me the address." 

He chuckled blithely, took off his shining tile, pointed 
to a notched pink circlet of paper pasted into its crown, 
with something lettered on it, and went on chuckling 
while I read, "J. B., Undertaker." Then he clapped 
his hat on, gave it an irreverent tilt to leeward, and cried 
out: 

'^ That's what's the matter! It used to be rough times 
with me when you knew me — insurance-agency business, 
you know; mighty irregular. Big fire, all right — brisk 
trade for ten days while people scared; after that, dull 
policy-business till next fire. Town like this don't have 
fires often enough — a fellow strikes so many dull weeks 
in a row that he gets discouraged. But you bet you, this 
is the business ! People don't wait for examples to die. 
No, sir, they drop off right along — there ain't any dull 
spots in the undertaker line. I just started in w^ith two 
or three little old coffins and a hired hearse, and now 
look at the thing ! I've worked up a business here that 
would satisfy any man, don't care who he is. Five years 
ago, lodged in an attic; live a swell house now, with a 
mansard roof, and all the modern inconveniences." 



3o6 



" Does a coffin pay so well ? Is there much profit on a 
coffin ? " 

"6'^-way ! How you talk ! " Then, with a confidential 
wink, a dropping of the voice, and an impressive laying 
of his hand on my arm: '* Look here; there's one thing 
in this world which isn't ever cheap. That's a coffin. 
There's one thing in this world which a person don't ever 
try to jew you down on. That's a coffin. There's one 
thing in this world which a person don't say — ' I'll look 
around a little, and if I find I can't do better I'll come 
back and take it.' That's a coffin. There's one thing in 
this world which a person won't take in pine if he can go 
walnut; and won't take in walnut if he can go mahogany; 
and won't take in mahogany if he can go an iron casket 
with silver door-plate and bronze handles. That's a 
coffin. And there's one thing in this world which you 
don't have to worry around after a person to get him 
to pay for. And thaf s a coffin. Undertaking ? — why 
it's the dead-surest business in Christendom, and the 
nobbiest. 

''Why, just look at it. A rich man won't have any 
thing but your very best; and you can just pile it on, 
too — pile it on and sock it to him — he won't ever holler. 
And you take in a poor man, and if you work him right 
he'll bust himself on a single lay-out. Or especially 
a woman. F'r instance: Mrs. O'Flaherty comes in, — 
widow, — wiping her eyes and kind of moaning. Unhand- 
kerchiefs one eye, bats it around tearfully over the stock; 
says : 

" 'And fhat might ye ask for that wan ?' 

" ' Thirty-nine dollars, madam,' says I. 

" ' It's a foine big price, sure, but Pat shall be buried 
like a gintleman, as he was, if I have to work me fingers 
off for it. I'll have that wan, sor.' 

" 'Yes, madam,' says I, 'and it is a very good one, 



307 



too; not costly, to be sure, but in this life we must cut 
our garment to our clothes, as the saying is.' And as she 
starts out, I heave in, kind of casually, ' This one with 
the white satin lining is a beauty, but I am afraid — well, 
sixty-five dollars /j" a rather— rather — but no matter, I felt 
obliged to say to Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ' 

*' ' D'ye mane to soy that Bridget O'Shaughnessy bought 
the mate to that joo-ul box to ship that dhrunken divil to 
Purgatory in ? ' 

" 'Yes, madam.' 
I *' 'Then Pat shall go to heaven in the twin to it, if it 
takes the last rap the O'Flahertys can raise : and moind 
you, stick on some extras, too, and I'll give ye another 
dollar.' 

''And as I lay-in with the livery stables, of course I 
don't forget to mention that Mrs. O'Shaughnessy hired 
fifty-four dollars' worth of hacks and flung as much 
style into Dennis's funeral as if he had been a duke or 
an assassin. And of course she sails in and goes the 
O'Shaughnessy about four hacks and an omnibus better. 
That used to be, but that's all played now; that is, in this 
particular town. The Irish got to piling up hacks so, on 
their funerals, that a funeral left them ragged and hungry 
for two years afterward; so the priest pitched in and 
broke it all up. He don't allow them to have but two 
hacks now, and sometimes only one." 

" Well," said I, " if you are so light-hearted and jolly in 
ordinary times, what ?nust you be in an epidemic ? " 

He shook his head. 

"No, you're off, there. We don't like to see an epi- 
demic. An epidemic don't pay. Well, of course I don't 
mean that, exactly; but it don't pay in proportion to the 
regular thing. Don't it occur to you, why ?" 

"No." 

"Thinl:." 



3o8 



'* I can't imagine. What is it ? " 

''It's just two things." 

''Well, what are they ?" 

"One's Embamming. " 

" And what's the other ? " 

"Ice." 

"How is that ?" 

"Well, in ordinary times, a person dies, and we lay 
him up in ice; one day, two days, maybe three, to wait 
for friends to come. Takes a lot of it — melts fast. We 
charge jewelry rates for that ice, and war prices for 
attendance. Well, don't you know, when there's an 
epidemic, they rush 'em to the cemetery the minute the 
breath's out. No market for ice in an epidemic. Same 
with Embamming. You take a family that's able to em- 
bam, and you've got a soft thing. You can mention 
sixteen different ways to do it, — though there aint only 
one or two w^ays, when you come down to the bottom 
facts of it, — and they'll take the highest-priced way, every 
time. It's human nature — human nature in grief. It don't 

reason, you see. Time being, it don't care a d n. 

All it wants is physical immortality for deceased, and 
they're willing to pay for it. All you've got to do is to just 
be ca'm and stack it up — they'll stand the racket. Why, 
man, you can take a defunct that you couldn't ^/z-^ away; 
and get your embamming traps around you and go to 
work; and in a couple of hours he is worth a cool six 
hundred — that's what hes worth. There ain't anything 
equal to it but trading rats for di'monds in time of famine. 
Well, don't you see, when there's an epidemic, people 
don't wait to embam. No, indeed they don't; and it 
hurts the business like hellth, as we say — hurts it like 
hell-th, health, see ? — Our little joke in the trade. Well, 
I must be going. Give me a call whenever you need 
any — I mean, when you're going by, sometime." 



309 



In his joyful high spirits, he did the exaggerating him- 
self, if any had been done. I have not enlarged on him. 

With the above brief references to inhumation, let us 
leave the subject. As for me, I hope to be cremated. 
I made that remark to my pastor once, who said, with 
what he seemed to think was an impressive manner : 

" I wouldn't worry about that, if I had your chances." 

Much he knew about it — the family all so opposed 
to it. 



\ 



CHAPTER XLIV 
CITY SIGHTS 

The old French part of New Orleans — anciently the 
Spanish part — bears no resemblance to the American end 
of the city : the American end which lies beyond the 
intervening brick business centre. The houses are 
massed in blocks; are austerely plain and dignified; uni- 
form of pattern, with here and there a departure from it 
with pleasant effect; all are plastered on the outside, and 
nearly all have long, iron-railed verandas running along 
the several stories. Their chief beauty is the deep, warm, 
varicolored stain with which time and the weather have 
enriched the plaster. It harmonizes with all the sur- 
roundings, and has as natural a look of belonging there 
as has the flush upon sunset clouds. This charming 
decoration cannot be successfully imitated; neither is it 
to be found elsewhere in America. 

The iron railings are a specialty, also. The pattern is 
often exceedingly light and dainty, and airy and graceful — 
with a large cipher or monogram in the centre, a delicate 
cobweb of baffling, intricate forms, wrought in steel. 
The ancient railings are hand-made, and are now com- 
paratively rare and proportionately valuable. They are 
become bric-a-brac. 

The party had the privilege of idling through this 
ancient quarter of New Orleans with the South's finest 
literary genius, the author of "The Grandissimes. " In 
him the South has found a masterly delineator of its 
interior life and its history. In truth, I find by experi- 
ence, that the untrained eye and vacant mind can inspect 



311 



it and learn of it and judge of it more clearly and profit- 
ably in his books than by personal contact with it. 

With Mr. Cable along to see for you, and describe and 
explain and illuminate, a jog through that old quarter 
is a vivid pleasure. And you have a vivid sense as of 
unseen or dimly seen things — vivid, and yet fitful and 
darkling ; you glimpse salient features, but lose the fine 
shades or catch them imperfectly through the vision of 
the imagination : a case, as it were, of an ignorant, 

I near-sighted stranger traversing the rim of wide, vague 
horizons of Alps with an inspired and enlightened 
') long-sighted native. 
We visited the old St. Louis Hotel, now occupied by 
municipal offices. There is nothing strikingly remark- 
able about it; but one can say of it as of the Academy 
of Music in New York, that if a broom or a shovel has 
ever been used in it there is no circumstantial evidence 
to back up the fact. It is curious that cabbages and 
hay and things do not grow in the Academy of Music ; 
but no doubt it is on account of the interruption of the 
light by the benches, and the impossibility of hoeing the 
crop except in the aisles. The fact that the ushers grow 
their buttonhole-bouquets on the premises shows what 
might be done if they had the right kind of an agricul- 
tural head to the establishment. 

We visited also the venerable Cathedral, and the 
pretty square in front of it ; the one dim with religious 
light, the other brilliant with the worldly sort, and 
lovely with orange-trees and blossomy shrubs; then we 
drove in the hot sun through the wilderness of houses 
and out on to the wide, dead level beyond, where the villas 
are, and the water-wheels to drain the town, and the 
commons populous with cows and children; passing by 
an old cemetery where we were told lie the ashes of an 
early pirate ; but we took him on trust, and did not 



312 



visit him. He was a pirate with a tremendous and san- 
guinary history; and as long as he preserved unspotted, 
in retirement, the dignity of his name and the grandeur 
of his ancient calhng, homage and reverence were his 
from high and low ; but when at last he descended into 
politics and became a paltry alderman, the public 
" shook " him, and turned aside and wept. When he 
died, they set up a monument over him ; and little by 
little he has come into respect again; but it is respect 
for the pirate, not the alderman. To-day the loyal and 
generous remember only what he was, and charitably 
forget what he became. 

Thence, we drove a few miles across a swamp, along a 
raised shell road, with a canal on one hand and a dense 
wood on the other ; and here and there, in the distance, 
a ragged and angular-limbed and moss-bearded cypress 
top standing out, clear cut against the sky, and as 
quaint of form as the apple-trees in Japanese pictures — 
such was our course and the surroundings of it. There 
was an occasional alligator swimming comfortably along 
in the canal, and an occasional picturesque colored per- 
son on the bank, flinging his statue-rigid reflection upon 
the still water and watching for a bite. 

And by and by we reached the West End, a collection 
of hotels of the usual light summer-resort pattern, with 
broad verandas all around, and the waves of the wide 
and blue Lake Pontchartrain lapping the thresholds. We 
had dinner on a ground-veranda over the water — the 
chief dish the renowned fish called the pompano, delicious 
as the less criminal forms of sin. 

Thousands of people come by rail and carriage to 
West End and to Spanish Fort every evening, and dine, 
listen to the bands, take strolls in the open air under 
the electric lights, go sailing on the lake, and entertain 
themselves in various and sundry other ways. 



313 



We had opportunities on other days and in other 
places to test the pompano. Notably, at an editorial 
dinner at one of the clubs in the city. He was in his 
last possible perfection there, and justified his fame. In 
his suite was a tall pyramid of scarlet cray-fish — large 
-ones ; as large as one's thumb ; delicate, palatable, 
appetizing. Also devilled whitebait ; also shrimps of 
choice quality ; and a platter of small soft-shell crabs of 
a most superior breed. The other dishes were what one 
might get at Delmonico's or Buckingham Palace; those 
I have spoken of can be had in similar perfection in New 
Orleans only, I suppose. 

In the West and South they have a new institution — • 
the Broom Brigade. It is composed of young ladies 
who dress in a uniform costume, and go through the 
infantry drill, with broom in place of musket. It is a 
very pretty sight, on private view. When they perform 
on the stage of a theatre, in the blaze of colored fires, it 
must be a fine and fascinating spectacle. I saw them go 
through their complex manual with grace, spirit, and 
admirable precision. I saw them do every thing which a 
human being can possibly do with a broom, except sweep. 
I did not see them sweep. But I know they could learn. 
What they have already learned proves that. And if they 
ever should learn, and should go on the war-path down 
Tchoupitoulas or some of those other streets around 
there, those thoroughfares would bear a greatly improved 
aspect in a very few minutes. But the girls themselves 
wouldn't ; so nothing would be really gained, after all. 

The drill was in the Washington Artillery building. 
In this building we saw many interesting relics of the 
war. Also a fine oil-painting representing Stonewall 
Jackson's last interview with General Lee. Both men 
are on horseback. Jackson has just ridden up, and is 
accosting Lee. The picture is very valuable, on account 



314 



of the portraits, which are authentic. But like many 
another historical picture, it means nothing without its 
label. And one label will fit it as well as another : 

First Interview between Lee and Jackson. 

Last Interview between Lee and Jackson. 

Jackson Introducing himself to Lee. 

Jackson Accepting Lee's Invitation to Dinner. 

Jackson Declining Lee's Invitation to Dinner — with 
Thanks. 

Jackson Apologizing for a Heavy Defeat. 

Jackson Reporting a Great Victory. 

Jackson Asking Lee for a Match. 

It tells one story, and a sufficient one ; for it says quite 
plainly and satisfactorily, *'Here are Lee and Jackson 
together." The artist would have made it tell that this 
is Lee and Jackson's last interview if he could have done 
it. But he couldn't, for there wasn't any way to do it. 
A good legible label is usually worth, for information, a 
ton of significant attitude and expression in a historical 
picture. In Rome, people with fine sympathetic natures 
stand up and weep in front of the celebrated ''Beatrice 
Cenci the Day before her Execution." It shows what a 
label can do. If they did not know the picture, they 
would inspect it unmoved, and say, "Young girl with 
hay fever ; young girl with her head in a bag." 

I found the half-forgotten Southern intonations and 
elisions as pleasing to my ear as they had formerly been. 
A Southerner talks music. At least it is music to me, 
but then I was born in the South. The educated South- 
erner has no use for an r, except at the beginning of a 
word. He says "honah," and "dinnah,"and ''Gove'- 
nuh," and ''befo' the waw," and so on. The words may 
lack charm to the eye, in print, but they have it to the 
ear. When did the r disappear from Southern speech, 
and how did it come to disappear ? The custom of drop- 



315 



ping it was not borrowed from the North, nor inherited 
from England. Many Southerners — most Southerners — 
put a_y into occasional words that begin with the k sound. 
For instance, they say Mr. K'yahtah (Carter) and speak of 
playing k'yahds or of riding in the k'yahs. And they 
have the pleasant custom — long ago fallen into decay 
in the North — of frequently employing the respectful 
''Sir." Instead of the curt Yes, and the abrupt No, 
they say "Yes, suh"; "No, suh." 

But there are some infelicities, such as "like" for 
" as," and the addition of an " at " where it isn't needed. 
I heard an educated gentleman say, "Like the flag-officer 
did." His cook or his butler would have said, " Like the 
flag-officer done." You hear gentlemen say, "Where 
have you been at ? " And here is the aggravated form — 
heard a ragged street Arab say it to a comrade: "I was 
a-ask'n' Tom whah you was a-sett'n' at." The very 
elect carelessly say "will" when they mean "shall"; 
and many of them say "I didn't go to do it," meaning 
" I didn't mean to do it." The Northern word " guess" 
— imported from England, where it used to be common, 
and now regarded by satirical Englishmen as a Yankee 
original — is but little used among Southerners. They 
say "reckon." They haven't any "doesn't" in their 
language; they say "don't" instead. The unpolished 
often use "went" for "gone." It is nearly as bad as 
the Northern " hadn't ought." This reminds me that a 
remark of a very peculiar nature was made here in my 
neighborhood (in the North) a few days ago : " He 
hadn't ought to have went." How is that? Isn't that 
a good deal of a triumph ? One knows the orders com- 
bined in this half-breed's architecture without enquiring: 
one parent Northern, the other Southern. To-day I 
heard a schoolmistress ask, "Where is John gone?" 
This form is so common — so nearly universal, in fact — 



3i6 



that if she had used *' whither" instead of "where," I 
think it would have sounded like an affectation. 

We picked up one excellent word — a word worth trav- 
elling to New Orleans to get; a nice limber, expressive, 
handy word — "Lagniappe." They pronounce it lanny- 
yap. It is Spanish— so they said. We discovered it at the . 
head of a column of odds and ends in the Picayune the first 
day; heard twenty people use it the second; inquired 
what it meant the third; adopted it and got facility 
in swinging it the fourth. It has a restricted meaning, 
but I think the people spread it out a little when they 
choose. It is the equivalent of the thirteenth roll in a 
** baker's dozen." It is something thrown in, gratis, for 
good measure. The custom originated in the Spanish 
quarter of the city. When a child or a servant buys some- 
thing in a shop — or even the mayor or the governor, for 
aught I know — he finishes the operation by saying: 

" Give me something for lagniappe. " 

The shopman always responds; gives the child a bit of 
liquorice-root, gives the servant a cheap cigar or a spool 
of thread, gives the governor — I don't know what he 
gives the governor; support, likely. 

When you are invited to drink, — and this does occur 
now and then in New Orleans, — and you say, "What, 
again? — no, I've had enough;" the other party says, 
"But just this one time more — this is for lagniappe." 
When the beau perceives that he is stacking his compli- 
ments a trifle too high, and sees by the young lady's 
countenance that the edifice would have been better with 
the top compliment left off, he puts his " I beg pardon, 
no harm intended," into the briefer form of " Oh, that's 
for lagniappe." If the waiter in the restaurant stumbles 
and spills a gill of coffee down the back of your neck, he 
says, "For lagniappe, sah," and gets you another cup 
without extra charoe. 



I 



CHAPTER XLV 
SOUTHERN SPORTS 

In the North one hears the war mentioned, in social 
conversation, once a month; sometimes as often as once 
a week; but as a distinct subject for talk, it has long ago 
been relieved of duty. There are sufficient reasons for 
this. Given a dinner company of six gentlemen to-day, 
it can easily happen that four of them — and possibly five 
— were not in the field at all. So the chances are four to 
two, or five to one, that the war will at no time during 
the evening become the topic of conversation; and the 
chances are still greater that if it become the topic it will 
remain so but a little while. If you add six ladies to the 
company, you have added six people who saw so little of 
the dread realities of the war that they ran out of talk 
concerning them years ago, and now would soon weary 
of the war topic if you brought it up. 

The case is very different in the South. There, every 
man you meet was in the war; and every lady you meet 
saw the war. The war is the great chief topic of conver- 
sation. The interest in it is vivid and constant; the 
interest in other topics is fleeting. Mention of the war 
will wake up a dull company and set their tongues goin 
when nearly any other topic would fail. In the South, 
the war is what A. D. is elsewhere: they date from it. 
All daylong you hear things ''placed "as having hap- 
pened since the waw; or du'in' the waw; or befo' the 
waw; or right aftah the waw; or 'bout two yeahs or five 
yeahs or ten yeahs befo' the waw or aftah the waw. It 
shows how intimately every individual was visited, in his 



cr 



3i8 



own person, by that tremendous episode. It gives the 
inexperienced stranger a better idea of what a vast and 
comprehensive calamity invasion is than he can ever get 
by reading books at the fireside. 

At a club one evening, a gentleman turned to me and 
said, in an aside : 

"You notice, of course, that we are nearly always 
talking about the war. It isn't because we haven't any 
thing else to talk about, but because nothing else has so 
strong an interest for us. And there is another reason : 
In the war, each of us, in his own person, seems to have 
sampled all the different varieties of human experience; 
as a consequence, you can't mention an outside matter of 
any sort but it will certainly remind some listener of 
something that happened during the war — and out he 
comes with it. Of course that brings the talk back to 
the war. You may try all you want to, to keep other 
subjects before the house, and we may all join in and 
help, but there can be but one result : the most random 
topic would load every man up with war reminiscences, 
and shut him up, too; and talk would be likely to stop 
presently, because you can't talk pale inconsequentiali- 
ties when you've got a crimson fact or fancy in your 
head that you are burning to fetch out." 

The poet was sitting some little distance away; and 
presently he began to speak — about the moon. 

The gentleman who had been talking to me remarked 
in an aside: "There, the moon is far enough from 
the seat of war, but you will see that it will suggest 
something to somebody about the war; in ten minutes 
from now the moon, as a topic, will be shelved." 

The poet was saying he had noticed something which 
was a surprise to him; had had the impression that down 
here, toward the equator, the moonlight was much 
stronger and brighter than up North; had had the im- 



319 



pression that when he visited New Orleans, many years 
ago, the moon 

Interruption from the other end of the room: 

" Let me explain that. Reminds me of an anecdote. 
Every thing is changed since the war, for better or for 
worse; but you'll find people down here born grumblers, 
who see no change except the change for the worse. 
There was an old negro woman of this sort. A young 
New Yorker said in her presence, ' What a wonderful 
moon you have down here ! ' She sighed and said, ' Ah, 
bless yo' heart, honey, you ought to seen dat moon befo' 
de waw ! ' " 

The new topic was dead already. But the poet 
resurrected it, and gave it a new start. 

A brief dispute followed, as to whether the difference 
between Northern and Southern moonlight really existed 
or was only imagined. Moonlight talk drifted easily into 
talk about artificial methods of dispelling darkness. 
Then somebody remembered that when Farragut ad- 
vanced upon Port Hudson on a dark night — and did not 
wish to assist the aim of the Confederate gunners — he 
carried no battle-lanterns, but painted the decks of his 
ships white, and thus created a dim but valuable light, 
which enabled his own men to grope their way around 
with considerable facility. At this point the war got the 
floor again — the ten minutes not quite up yet. 

I was not sorry, for war talk by men who have been in 
a war is always interesting; whereas moon talk by a poet 
who has not been in the moon is likely to be dull. 

We went to a cockpit in New Orleans on a Saturday 
afternoon. I had never seen a cock-fight before. There 
were men and boys there of all ages and all colors, and 
of many languages and nationalities. But I noticed one 
quite conspicuous and surprising absence : the traditional 
brutal faces. There were no brutal faces. With no 



320 



cock-fighting going on, you could have played the 
gathering on a stranger for a prayer-meeting; and after 
it began, for a revival, — provided you blindfolded your 
stranger, — for the shouting was something prodigious. 

A negro and a white man were in the ring; every-body 
else outside. The cocks were brought in in sacks; and 
when time was called, they were taken out by the two 
bottle-holders, stroked, caressed, poked toward each 
other, and finally liberated. The big black cock plunged 
instantly at the little gray one and struck him on the 
head with his spur. The gray responded with spirit. 
Then the Babel of many-tongued shoutings broke out, 
and ceased not thenceforth. When the cocks had been 
fighting some little time, I was expecting them momently 
to drop dead, for both were blind, red with blood, and so 
exhausted that they frequently fell down. Yet they 
would not give up, neither would they die. The negro 
and the white man would pick them up every few 
seconds, wipe them off, blow cold water on them in a fine 
spray, and take their heads in their mouths and hold 
them there a moment — to warm back the perishing life 
perhaps; I do not know. Then, being set down again, 
the dying creatures would totter gropingly about, with 
dragging wings, find each other, strike a guess-work 
blow or two, and fall exhausted once more. 

I did not see the end of the battle. I forced myself to 
endure it as long as I could, but it was too pitiful a sight; 
so I made frank confession to that effect, and we retired. 
We heard afterward that the black cock died in the ring, 
and fighting to the last. 

Evidently there is abundant fascination about this 
** sport " for such as have had a degree of familiarity with 
it. I never saw people enjoy any thing more than this 
gathering enjoyed this fight. The case was the same 
with old gray-heads and with boys of ten. They lost 



321 



themselves in frenzies of delight. The **cocking-main" 
is an inhuman sort of entertainment, there is no question 
about that; still, it seems a much more respectable and 
far less cruel sport than fox-hunting — for the cocks like 
it; they experience, as well as confer enjoyment; which 
is not the fox's case. 

We assisted — in the French sense — at a mule-race, one 
day. I believe I enjoyed this contest more than any 
other mule there. I enjoyed it more than I remember 
having enjoyed any other animal race I ever saw. The 
grand stand was well filled with the beauty and the 
chivalry of New Orleans. That phase is not original with 
me. It is the Southern reporter's. He has used it for 
two generations. He uses it twenty times a day, or 
twenty thousand times a day; or a million times a day — 
according to the exigencies. He is obliged to use it a 
million times a day, if he have occasion to speak of re- 
spectable men and women that often; for he has no other 
phrase for such service except that single one. He never 
tires of it; it always has a fine sound to him. There is a 
kind of swell, mediaeval bulliness and tinsel about it that 
pleases his gaudy, barbaric soul. If he had been in Pales- 
tine in the early times, we should have had no references 
to "much people " out of him. No, he would have said 
"the beauty and the chivalry of Galilee " assembled to 
hear the Sermon on the Mount. It is likely that the men 
and women of the South are sick enough of that phrase 
by this time, and would like a change, but there is no 
immediate prospect of their getting it. 

The New Orleans editor has a strong, compact, direct, 
unflowery style; wastes no words, and does not gush. 
Not so with his average correspondent. In the Appendix 
I have quoted a good letter, penned by a trained hand; 
but the average correspondent hurls a style which differs 
from that. For instance: 



32?2 



The Tim/; s- Democrat sent a relief-steamer up one of the 
bayous, last April. This steamer landed at a village, up 
there somewhere, and the captain invited some of the 
ladies of the village to make a short trip with him. They 
accepted and came aboard, and the steamboat shoved out 
up the creek. That was all there was "to it." And that 
is all that the editor of the Times-Dei?iocrat would have 
got out of it. There was nothing in the thing but 
statistics, and he would have got nothing else out of it. 
He would probably have even tabulated them; partly to 
secure perfect clearness of statement, and partly to save 
space. But his special correspondent knows other 
methods of handling statistics. He just throws off all 
restraint and wallows in them: 

On Saturday, early in the morning, the beauty of the place 
graced our cabin, and proud of her fair freight the gallant little 
boat glided up the bayou. 

Twenty-two words to say the ladies came aboard and 
the boat shoved out up the creek, is a clean waste of ten 
good words, and is also destructive of compactness of 
statement. 

The trouble with the Southern reporter is — Women. 
They unsettle him; they throw him off his balance. He 
is plain, and sensible, and satisfactory, until a woman 
heaves in sight. Then he goes all to pieces; his mind 
totters, he becomes flowery and idiotic. From reading 
the above extract, you would imagine that this student of 
Sir Walter Scott is an apprentice, and knows next to 
nothing about handling a pen. On the contrary, he 
furnishes plenty of proofs, in his long letter, that he 
knows well enough how to handle it when the women are 
not around to give him the artificial-flower complaint. 
For instance: 



323 



At four o'clock ominous clouds began to gather in the south-east, 
and presently from the Gulf there came a blow which increased in 
severity every moment. It was not safe to leave the landing then, 
and there was a delay. The oaks shook off long tresses of their 
mossy beards to the tugging of the wind, and the bayou in its 
ambition put on miniature waves in mocking of much larger bodies 
of water. A lull permitted a start, and homeward we steamed, an 
inky sky overhead and a heavy wind blowing. As darkness crept 
on, there were few on board who did not wish themselves nearer 
home. 

There is nothing the matter with that. It is good 
description, compactly put. Yet there was great tempta- 
tion, there, to drop into lurid writing. 

But let us return to the mule. Since I left him, I have 
rummaged around and found a full report of the race. 
In it I find confirmation of the theory which I broached 
just now — namely, that the trouble with the Southern 
reporter is Women : Women, supplemented by Walter 
Scott and his knights and beauty and chivalry, and so on. 
This is an excellent report, as long as the women stay 
out of it. But when they intrude, we have this frantic 
result: 

It will be probably a long time before the ladies' stand presents 
such a sea of foam-like loveliness as it did yesterday. The New 
Orleans women are always charming, but never so much so as at 
this time of the year, when in their dainty spring costumes they 
bring with them a breath of balmy freshness and an odor of 
sanctity unspeakable. The stand was so crowded with them tliat, 
walking at their feet and seeing no possibility of approach, many a 
man appreciated as he never did before the Peri's feeling at the 
Gates of Paradise, and wondered what was the priceless boon that 
would admit him to their sacred presence. Sparkling on their 
white-robed breasts or shoulders were the colors of their favorite 
knights, and were it not for the fact that the doughty heroes 
appeared on unromantic mules, it would have been easy to imagine 
one of King Arthur's gala-days. 



324 



There were thirteen mules in the first heat; all sorts of 
mules, they were; all sorts of complexions, gaits, disposi- 
tions, aspects. Some were handsome creatures, some 
were not; some were sleek, some hadn't had their fur 
brushed lately; some were innocently gay and frisky; 
some were full of malice and all unrighteousness; guess- 
ing from looks, some of them thought the matter on 
hand was war, some thought it was a lark, the rest took 
it for a religious occasion. And each mule acted accord- 
ing to his convictions. The result was an absence of 
harmony well compensated by a conspicuous presence of 
variety — variety of a picturesque and entertaining sort. 

All the riders were young gentlemen in fashionable 
society. If the reader has been wondering why it is that 
the ladies of New Orleans attend so humble an orgy as a 
mule-race, the thing is explained now. It is a fashion- 
freak; all connected with it are people of fashion. 

It is great fun, and cordially liked. The mule-race is 
one of the marked occasions of the year. It has brought 
some pretty fast mules to the front. One of these had 
to be ruled out, because he was so fast that he turned 
the thing into a one-mule contest, and robbed it of one 
of its best features — variety. But every now and then 
somebody disguises him with a new name and a new 
complexion, and rings him in again. 

The riders dress in full jockey costumes of bright- 
colored silks, satins, and velvets. 

The thirteen mules got away in a body, after a couple 
of false starts, and scampered off with prodigious spirit. 
As each mule and each rider had a distinct opinion of his 
own as to how the race ought to be run, and which side 
of the track was best in certain circumstances, and how 
often the track ought to be crossed, and when a collision 
ought to be accomplished, and when it ought to be 
avoided, these twenty-six conflicting opinions created 



I 



325 



a most fantastic and picturesque confusion, and the 
resulting spectacle was killingly comical. 

Mile heat; time, 2:22. Eight of the thirteen mules 
distanced. I had a bet on a mule which would have won 
if the procession had been reversed. The second heat 
was good fun; and so was the "consolation race for 
beaten mules," which followed later; but the first heat 
was the best in that respect. 

I think that much the most enjoyable of all races is a 
steamboat race; but, next to that, I prefer the gay and 
joyous mule-rush. Two red-hot steamboats raging 
along, neck-and-neck, straining every nerve, — that is to 
say, every rivet in the boilers, — quaking and shaking and 
groaning from stem to stern, spouting white steam from 
the pipes, pouring black smoke from the chimneys, rain- 
ing down sparks, parting the river into long breaks of 
hissing foam — this is sport that makes a body's very 
liver curl with enjoyment. A horse-race is pretty tame 
and colorless in comparison. Still, a horse-race might 
be well enough, in its way, perhaps, if it were not for 
the tiresome false starts. But then, nobody is ever 
killed. At least, nobody was ever killed when I was at 
a horse-race. They have been crippled, it is true; but 
this is little to the purpose. 



CHAPTER XLVI 
ENCHANTMENTS AND ENCHANTERS 

The largest annual event in New Orleans i-s a some- 
thing which we arrived too late to sample — the Mardi- 
Gras festivities. I saw the procession of the Mystic 
Crew of Comus there, twenty-four years ago — with 
knights and nobles and so on, clothed in silken and 
golden Paris-made gorgeousnesses, planned and bought 
for that single night's use; and in their train all manner 
of giants, dwarfs, monstrosities, and other diverting 
grotesquerie — a startling and wonderful sort of show, 
as it filed solemnly and silently down the street in the 
light of its smoking and flickering torches; but it is said 
that in these latter days the spectacle is mightily 
augrnented, as to cost, splendor, and variety. There 
is a chief personage — "Rex"; and if I remember rightly, 
neither this king nor any of his great following of sub- 
ordinates is known to any outsider. All these people 
are gentlemen of position and consequence; and it is 
a proud thing to belong to the organization; so the 
mystery in which they hide their personality is merely 
for romance's sake, and not on account of the police. 

Mardi-Gras is of course a relic of the French and 
Spanish occupation; but I judge that the religious 
feature has been pretty well knocked out of it now. 
Sir Walter has got the advantage of the gentlemen of 
the cowl and rosary, and he will stay. His mediaeval 
business, supplemented by the monsters and the oddities, 
and the pleasant creatures from fairy-land, is finer to 
look at than the poor fantastic inventions and perform- 



327 



ances of the revelling rabble of the priest's day, and 
serves quite as well, perhaps, to emphasize the day and 
admonish men that the grace-line between the worldly 
season and the holy one is reached. 

This Mardi-Gras pageant was the exclusive possession 
of New Orleans until recently. But now it has spread to 
Memphis and St. Louis and Baltimore. It has probably 
reached its limit. It is a thing which could hardly exist 
in the practical North; would certainly last but a very 
brief time; as brief a time as it would last in London. 
For the soul of it is the romantic, not the funny and the 
grotesque. Take away the romantic mysteries, the kings 
and knights and big-sounding titles, and Mardi-Gras 
would die, down there in the South. The very feature 
that keeps it alive in the South — girly-girly romance — 
would kill it in the North or in London. Puck and 
Punchy and the press universal, would fall upon it and 
make merciless fun of it, and its first exhibition would 
be also its last. 

Against the crimes of the French Revolution and of 
Bonaparte may be set two compensating benefactions: 
the Revolution broke the chains of the ancien regime and 
of the Church, and made a nation of abject slaves a 
nation of freemen; and Bonaparte instituted the setting 
of merit above birth, and also so completely stripped the 
divinity from royalty that, whereas crowned heads in 
Europe were gods before, they are only men since, and 
can never be gods again, but only figure-heads, and 
answerable for their acts like common clay. Such bene- 
factions as these compensate the temporary harm which 
Bonaparte and the Revolution did, and leave the world 
in debt to them for these great and permanent services 
to liberty, humanity, and progress. 

Then comes Sir Walter Scott with his enchantments, 
and by his single might checks this wave of progress, 



328 



and even turns it back; sets the world in love with 
dreams and phantoms; with decayed and swinish forms 
of religion; with decayed and degraded systems of 
government; with the sillinesses and emptinesses, sham 
grandeurs, sham gauds, and sham chivalries of a brain- 
less and worthless long-vanished society. He did meas- 
ureless harm; more real and lasting harm, perhaps, than 
any other individual that ever wrote. Most of the world 
has now outlived good part of these harms, though by 
no means all of them; but in our South they flourish 
pretty forcefully still. Not so forcefully as half a 
generation ago, perhaps, but still forcefully. There, 
the genuine and wholesome civilization of the nineteenth 
century is curiously confused and commingled with the 
Walter Scott Middle-Age sham civilization, and so you 
have practical common-sense, progressive ideas, and 
progressive works, mixed up with the duel, the inflated 
speech, and the jejune romanticism of an absurd past 
that is dead, and out of charity ought to be buried. But 
for the Sir Walter disease, the character of the South- 
erner — or Southron, according to Sir Walter's starchier 
way of phrasing it — would be wholly modern, in place of 
modern and mediaeval mixed, and the South would be 
fully a generation further advanced than it is. It was 
Sir Walter that made every gentleman in the South a 
major or a colonel, or a general or a judge, before the 
war; and it was he, also, that made these gentlemen 
value these bogus decorations. For it was he that created 
rank and caste down there, and also reverence for rank 
and caste, and pride and pleasure in them. Enough is 
laid on slavery, without fathering upon it these creations 
and contributions of Sir Walter. 

Sir Walter had so large a hand in making Southern 
character, as it existed before the war, that he is in 
great measure responsible for the war. It seems a little 



329 



harsh toward a dead man to say that we never should 
have had any war but for Sir Walter; and yet something 
of a plausible argument might, perhaps, be made in sup- 
port of that wild proposition. The Southerner of the 
American revolution owned slaves; so did the South- 
erner of the Civil War : but the former resembles the 
latter as an Englishman resembles a Frenchman. The 
change of character can be traced rather more easily to 
Sir Walter's influence than to that of any other thing or 
person. 

One may observe, by one or two signs, how deeply 
that influence penetrated, and how strongly it holds. 
If one take up a Northern or Southern literary periodi- 
cal of forty or fifty years ago, he will find it filled w4th 
wordy, wdndy, flowery ''eloquence," romanticism, senti- 
mentality — all imitated from Sir Walter, and sufficiently 
badly done, too — innocent travesties of his style ano 
methods, in fact. This sort of literature being the 
fashion in both sections of the country, there was oppor- 
tunity for the fairest competition; and as a consequence, 
the South was able to show as many well-known literary 
names, proportioned to population, as the North could. 

But a change has come, and there is no opportunity 
now for a fair competition between North and South. 
For the North has thrown out that old inflated style, 
whereas the Southern writer still clings to it — clings to 
it and has a restricted market for his wares, as a conse- 
quence. There is as much literary talent in the South, 
now, as ever there was, of course; but its work can gain 
but slight currency under present conditions; the 
authors write for the past, not the present; they use 
obsolete forms and a dead language. But when a 
Southerner of genius writes modern English, his book 
goes upon crutches no longer, but upon wings; and they 
carry it swiftly all about America and England, and 



330 



through the great English reprint publishing houses of 
Germany — as witness the experience of Mr. Cable and 
"Uncle Remus," two of the very few Southern authors 
who do not write in the Southern style. Instead of 
three or four widely known literary names, the South 
ought to have a dozen or two — and will have them 
when Sir Walter's time is out. 

A curious exemplification of the power of a single 
book for good or harm is shown in the effects wrought 
by "Don Quixote" and those wrought by "Ivanhoe." 
The first swept the world's admiration for the medieval 
chivalry-silliness out of existence; and the other re- 
stored it. As far as our South is concerned, the good 
work done by Cervantes is pretty nearly a dead letter, 
so effectually has Scott's pernicious work undermined it. 



CHAPTER XLVII 
"uncle REMUS " AND MR. CABLE 

Mr. Joel Chandler Harris (" Uncle Remus ") was 
to arrive from Atlanta at seven o'clock Sunday morning; 
so we got up and received him. We were able to detect 
him among the crowd of arrivals at the hotel-counter by 
his correspondence with a description of him which had 
been furnished us from a trustworthy source. He was 
said to be undersized, red-haired, and somewhat freckled. 
He was the only man in the party whose outside tallied 
with this bill of particulars. He was said to be very shy. 
He is a shy man. Of this there is no doubt. It may not 
show on the surface, but the shyness is there. After 
days of intimacy one wonders to see that it is still in 
about as strong force as ever. There is a fine and 
beautiful nature hidden behind it, as all know who have 
read the "Uncle Remus " book; and a fine genius, too, as 
all know by the same sign. I seem to be talking quite 
freely about this neighbor; but in talking to the public I 
am but talking to his personal friends, and these things 
are permissible among friends. 

He deeply disappointed a number of children who had 
flocked eagerly to Mr. Cable's house to get a glimpse of 
the illustrious sage and oracle of the nation's nurseries. 
They said: 

"Why, he's white ! " 

They were grieved about it. So, to console them, the 
book was brought, that they might hear Uncle Remus's 
Tar-Baby story from the lips of Uncle Remus himself — 
or what, in their outraged eyes, was left of him. But it 



332 



turned out that he had never read aloud to people, and 
was too shy to venture the attempt now. Mr. Cable and 
I read from books of ours, !o show him what an easy trick 
it was; but his immortal shyness was proof against even 
this sagacious strategy; so we had to read about Brer 
Rabbit ourselves. 

Mr. Harris ought to be able to read the negro dialect 
better than any body else, for in the matter of writing it 
he is the only master the country has produced. Mr. 
Cable is the only master in the writing of French dialects 
that the country has produced; and he reads them in 
perfection. It was a great treat to hear him read about 
Jean-ah Poquelin, and about Innerarity and his famous 
" pigshoo " representing " Louisihanna 7?//-fusing to 
Hanter the Union," along with passages of nicely-shaded 
German dialect from a novel which was still in manu- 
script. 

It came out in conversation that in two different 
instances Mr. Cable got into grotesque trouble by using, 
in his books, next-to-impossible French names which 
nevertheless happened to be borne by living and sensi- 
tive citizens of New Orleans. His names were either 
inventions or were borrowed from the ancient and obso- 
lete past, I do not now remember which; but at any rate 
living bearers of them turned up, and were a good deal 
hurt at having attention directed to themselves and their 
affairs in so excessively public a manner. 

Mr. Warner and I had an experience of the same sort 
when we wrote the book called "The Gilded Age." 
There is a character in it called "Sellers." I do not 
remember what his first name was, in the beginning; but 
any way, Mr. Warner did not like it, and wanted it 
improved. He asked me if I was able to imagine a per- 
son named " Eschol Sellers." Of course I said I could 
not, without stimulants. He said that away out West, 



333 



once, he had met, and contemplated, and actually shaken 
hands with a man bearing that impossible name — ■ 
" Eschol Sellers." He added: 

''It was twenty years ago; his name has probably 
carried him off before this; and if it hasn't, he will never 
see the book anyhow. We will confiscate his name. 
The name you are using is common, and therefore 
dangerous; there are probably a thousand Sellerses bear- 
ing it, and the whole horde will come after us; but 
Eschol Sellers is a safe name — it is a rock." 

So we borrowed that name; and when the book had 
been out about a week, one of the stateliest and hand- 
somest and most aristocratic looking white men that ever 
lived, called around, with the most formidable libel suit 
in his pocket that ever — well, in brief, we got his per- 
mission to suppress an edition of ten million * copies of 
the book and change that name to "Mulberry Sellers" 
in future editions. 

* Figures taken from memory, and probably incorrect. Think it was 
more. 



CHAPTER XLVIII 
SUGAR AND POSTAGE 

One day, on the street, I encountered the man whom, of 
all men, I most wished to see — Horace Bixby; formerly 
pilot under me, — or rather, over me, — now captain of the 
great steamer City of Batoji Rouge^ the latest and swiftest 
addition to the Anchor Line. The same slender figure, 
the same tight curls, the same springy step, the same 
alertness, the same decision of eye and answering deci- 
sion of hand, the same erect military bearing ; not an 
inch gained or lost in girth, not an ounce gained or 
lost in weight, not a hair turned. It is a curious thing, 
to leave a man thirty-five years old, and come back at 
the end of twenty-one years and find him still only 
thirty-five. I have not had an experience of this kind 
before, I believe. There were some crow's-feet, but 
they counted for next to nothing, since they were incon- 
spicuous. 

His boat was just in. I had been waiting several days 
for her, purposing to return to St. Louis in her. The 
captain and I joined a party of ladies and gentlemen, 
guests of Major Wood, and went down the river fifty- 
four miles, in a swift tug, to ex-Governor Warmouth's 
sugar plantation. Strung along below the city was a 
number of decayed, ramshackly, superannuated old 
steamboats, not one of which had I ever seen before. 
They had all been built, and worn out, and thrown aside, 
since I was here last. This gives one a realizing sense 
of the frailness of a Mississippi boat and the briefness of 
its life. 



335 



Six miles below town a fat and battered brick chim- 
ney, sticking above the magnolias and live-oaks, was 
pointed out as the monument erected by an appreciative 
nation to celebrate the battle of New Orleans — Jackson's 
victory over the British, January 8, 1815. The war had 
ended, the two nations were at peace, but the news had 
not yet reached New Orleans. If we had had the cable 
telegraph in those days, this blood would not have been 
spilt, those lives would not have been wasted; and 
better still, Jackson would probably never have been 
President. We have gotten over the harms done us by 
the war of 1812, but not over some of those done us by 
Jackson's presidency. 

The Warmouth plantation covers a vast deal of ground, 
and the hospitality of the Warmouth mansion is gradu- 
ated to the same large scale. We saw steam-ploughs at 
work, here, for the first time. The traction engine 
travels about on its own wheels, till it reaches the re- 
quired spot ; then it stands still and by means of a wire 
rope pulls the huge plough toward itself two or three 
hundred yards across the field, between the rows of cane. 
The thing cuts down into the black mould a foot and a 
half deep. The plough looks like a fore-and-aft brace of a 
Hudson River steamer, inverted. When the negro steers- 
man sits on one end of it, that end tilts down near the 
ground, while the other sticks up high in air. This great 
see-saw goes rolling and pitching like a ship at sea, and 
it is not every circus rider that could stay on it. 

The plantation contains two thousand six hundred 
acres ; six hundred and fifty are in cane ; and there is a 
fruitful orange grove of five thousand trees. The cane 
is cultivated after a modern and intricate scientific 
fashion, too elaborate and complex for me to attempt to 
describe ; but it lost forty thousand dollars last year. I 
forget the other details. However, this year's crop will 



336 



reach ten or twelve hundred tons of sugar, consequently 
last year's loss will not matter. These troublesome and 
expensive scientific methods achieve a yield of a ton and 
a half, and from that to two tons, to the acre ; which is 
three or four times what the yield of an acre was in my 
time. 

The drainage-ditches were everywhere alive with little 
crabs — " fiddlers." One saw them scampering sidewise in 
every direction whenever they heard a disturbing noise. 
Expensive pests, these crabs ; for they bore into the 
levees, and ruin them. 

The great sugar-house was a wilderness of tubs and 
tanks and vats and filters, pumps, pipes, and machinery. 
The process of making sugar is exceedingly interesting. 
First, you heave your cane into the centrifugals and grind 
out the juice; then run it through the evaporating pan 
to extract the fibre; then through the bone-filter to re- 
move the alcohol; then through the clarifying tanks to 
discharge the molasses; then through the granulating 
pipe to condense it; then through the vacuum pan to 
extract the vacuum. It is now ready for market. I have 
jotted these particulars down from memory. The thing 
looks simple and easy. Do not deceive yourself. To 
make sugar is really one of the most difficult things 
in the world. And to make it right is next to impos- 
sible. If you will examine your own supply every now 
and then for a term of years, and tabulate the result, you 
will find that not two men in twenty can make sugar 
without getting sand into.it. 

We could have gone down to the mouth of the river 
and visited Captain Eads's great work, the ''jetties," 
where the river has been compressed between walls, and 
thus deepened to twenty-six feet; but it was voted use- 
less to go, since at this stage of the water every thing 
would be covered up and invisible. 



337 



We could have visited that ancient and singular burg, 
"Pilot-town," which stands on stilts in the water — so they 
say ; where nearly all communication is by skiff and 
canoe, even to the attending of weddings and funerals; 
and where the littlest boys and girls are as handy with 
the oar as unamphibious children are with the velocipede. 

We could have done a number of other things ; but on 
account of limited time, we went back home. The sail 
up the breezy and sparkling river was a charming experi- 
ence, and would have been satisfyingly sentimental and 
romantic but for the interruptions of the tug's pet par- 
rot, whose tireless comments upon the scenery and the 
guests were always this-worldly, and often profane. He 
had also a superabundance of the discordant, ear-split- 
ting, metallic laugh common to his breed — a machine- 
made laugh, a Frankenstein laugh, with the soul left out 
of it. He applied it to every sentimental remark, and to 
every pathetic song. He cackled it out with hideous 
energy after "Home again, home again, from a foreign 
shore," and said he "wouldn't give a d for a tug- 
load of such rot." Romance and sentiment cannot long 
survive this sort of discouragement; so the singing and 
talking presently ceased; which so delighted the parrot 
that he cursed himself hoarse for joy. 

Then the male members of the party moved to the fore- 
castle, to smoke and gossip. There were several old 
steamboatmen along, and I learned from them a great 
deal of what had been happening to my former river 
friends during my long absence. I learned that a pilot 
whom I used to steer for is become a spiritualist, and for 
more than fifteen years has been receiving a letter every 
week from a deceased relative, through a New York 
spiritualistic medium named Manchester — postage gradu- 
ated by distance; from the local post-office in Paradise to 
New York, five dollars; from New York to St. Louis, 



33S 



three cents. I remember Mr. Manchester very well. I 
called on him once, ten years ago, with a couple of friends, 
one of whom wished to enquire after a deceased uncle. 
This uncle had lost his life in a peculiarly violent and 
unusual way, half a dozen years before: a cyclone blew 
him some three miles and knocked a tree down with him 
which was four feet through at the butt and sixty-five 
feet high. He did not survive this triumph. At the 
seance just referred to, my friend questioned his late 
uncle, through Mr. Manchester, and the late uncle wrote 
down his replies, using Mr. Manchester's hand and pencil 
for that purpose. The following is a fair example of the 
questions asked, and also of the sloppy twaddle in the 
way of answers furnished by Manchester under the pre- 
tence that it came from the spectre. If this man is not 
the paltriest fraud that lives, I owe him an apology : 

Question. Where are you ? 

Answer. In the spirit world. 

Q. Are you happy ? 

A. Very happy. Perfectly happy. 

Q. How do you amuse yourself ? 

A. Conversation with friends, and other spirits. 

Q. What else ? 

A. Nothing else. Nothing else is necessary. 

Q. What do you talk about ? 

A. About how happy we are; and about friends left 
behind in the earth, and how to influence them for their 
good. 

Q. When your friends in the earth all get to the spirit 
land, what shall you have to talk about then ? — nothing 
but about how happy you all are ? 

No reply. It is explained that spirits will not answer 
frivolous questions. 

Q. How is it that spirits that are content to spend an 
eternity in frivolous employments, and accept it as happi- 



339 



ness, are so fastiduous about frivolous questions upon the 
subject ? 

No reply. 

Q, Would you like to come back? 



No. 

Would you say that under oath ? 
Yes. 

What do you eat there ? 
We do not eat. 
What do you drink ? 
We do not drink. 
What do you smoke ? 
We do not smoke. 
What do you read ? 
We do not read. 

Do all the good people go to your place ? 
Yes. 

You know my present way of life. Can you sug- 
gest any additions to it, in the way of crime, that will 
reasonably ensure my going to some other place.'' 
No reply. 

Q. When did you die ? 
A. I did not die; I passed away. 

Q. Very well, then; when did you pass away? How 
long have you been in the spirit land ? 

A. We have no measurements of time here. 
Q. Though you may be indifferent and uncertain as 
to dates and times in your present condition and environ- 
ment, this has nothing to do with your former condition. 
You had dates then. One of these is what I ask for. 
You departed on a certain day in a certain year. Is not 
this true ? 
A. Yes. 

Q. Then name the day of the month. 
(Much fumbling with pencil, on the part of the 



340 



medium, accompanied by violent spasmodic jerl^ings of 
his head and body, for some little time. Finally, expla- 
nation to the effect that spirits often forget dates, such 
things being without importance to them.) 

Q. Then this one has actually forgotten the date of 
its translation to the spirit land? 

This was granted to be the case. 

Q. This is very curious. Well, then, what year was 
it? 

(More fumbling, jerking, idiotic spasms, on the part of 
the medium. Finally, explanation to the effect that the 
spirit has forgotten the year.) 

Q. This is indeed stupendous. Let me put one more 
question, one last question, to you, before we part to 
meet no more; for even if I fail to avoid your asylum, a 
meeting there will go for nothing as a meeting, since by 
that time you will easily have forgotten me and my name. 
Did you die a natural death, or were you cut off by a 
catastrophe ? 

A. (After a long hesitation and many throes and 
spasms. ) Natural death. 

This ended the interview. My friend told the medium 
that when his relative was in this poor world, he was 
endowed with an extraordinary intellect and an absolutely 
defectless memory, and it seemed a great pity that he 
had not been allowed to keep some shred of these for his 
amusement in the realms of everlasting contentment, 
and for the amazement and admiration of the rest of the 
population there. 

This man had plenty of clients — has plenty yet. He 
receives letters from spirits located in every part of the 
spirit world, and delivers them all over this country 
through the United States mail. These letters are filled 
with advice, — advice from *' spirits" who don't know as 
much as a tadpole, — and this advice is religiously followed 



341 



by the receivers. One of these clients was a man whom 
the spirits (if one may thus plurally describe the ingen- 
ious Manchester) were teaching how to contrive an 
improved railway car-wheel. It is coarse employment 
for a spirit, but it is higher and wholesomer activity 
than talking forever about "how happy we are." 



CHAPTER XLIX 
EPISODES IN PILOT LIFE 

In the course of the tug-boat gossip, it came out that 
out of every five of my former friends who had quitted 
the river, four had chosen farming as an occupation. 
Of course this was not because they were peculiarly 
gifted agriculturally, and thus more likely to succeed as 
farmers than in other industries: the reason for their 
choice must be traced to some other source. Doubtless 
they chose farming because that life is private and 
secluded from irruptions of undesirable strangers — like 
the pilot-house hermitage. And doubtless they also 
chose it because on a thousand nights of black storm and 
danger they had noted the twinkling lights of solitary 
farm-houses, as the boat swung by, and pictured to them- 
selves the serenity and security and coseyness of such 
refuges at such times, and so had by and by come to 
dream of that retired and peaceful life as the one desir- 
able thing to long for, anticipate, earn, and at last enjoy. 

But I did not learn that any of these pilot-farmers had 
astonished any body with their successes. Their farms do 
not support them : they support their farms. The pilot- 
farmer disappears from the river annually, about the 
breaking of spring, and is seen no more till next frost. 
Then he appears again, in damaged homespun, combs 
the hay-seed out of his hair, and takes a pilot-house 
berth for the winter. In this way he pays the debts 
which his farming has achieved during the agricultural 
season. So his river bondage is but half broken; he is 
still the river's slave the hardest half of the year. 



343 



One of these men bought a farm, but did not retire to 
it. He knew a trick worth two of that. He did not 
propose to pauperize his farm by applying his personal 
ignorance to working it. No, he put the farm into the 
hands of an agricultural expert to be worked on shares — 
out of every three loads of corn the expert to have two 
and the pilot the third. But at the end of the season 
the pilot received no corn. The expert explained that 
his share was not reached. The farm produced only two 
loads. 

Some of the pilots whom I had known had had adven- 
tures — the outcome fortunate, sometimes, bu-t not in all 
cases. Captain Montgomery, whom I had steered for 
when he was a pilot, comm.anded the Confederate fleet in 
the great battle before Memphis; when his vessel went 
down, he swam ashore, fought his way through a squad 
of soldiers, and made a gallant and narrow escape. He 
was always a cool man; nothing could disturb his 
serenity. Once when he was captain of the Crescent 
City, I was bringing the boat into port at New Orleans, 
and momently expecting orders from the hurricane deck, 
but received none. I had stopped the wheels, and there 
my authority and responsibility ceased. It was evening — 
dim twilight; the captain's hat was perched upon the 
big bell, and I supposed the intellectual end of the 
captain was in it, but such was not the case. The cap- 
tain was very strict; therefore I knew better than to 
touch a bell without orders. My duty was to hold the 
boat steadily on her calamitous course, and leave the 
consequences to take care of themselves — which I did. 
So we went ploughing past the sterns of steamboats and 
getting closer and closer — the crash was bound to come 
very soon — and still that hat never budged; for alas! 
the captain was napping in the texas. . . Things were 
becoming exceedingly nervous and uncomfortable. It 



344 



seemed to me that the captain was not going to appear 
in time to see the entertainment. But he did. Just as 
we were walking into the stern of a steamboat, he stepped 
out on deck, and said, with heavenly serenity, ''Set her 
back on both " — which I did; but a trifle late, however, 
for the next moment we went smashing through that 
other boat's flimsy outer works with a most prodigious 
racket. The captain never said a word to me about the 
matter afterward, except to remark that I had done right, 
and that he hoped I would not hesitate to act in the same 
way again in like circumstances. 

One of the pilots whom I had known when I was on 
the river had died a very honorable death. His boat 
caught fire, and he remained at the wheel until he got 
her safe to land. Then he went out over the breast- 
board with his clothing in flames, and was the last person 
to get ashore. He died from his injuries in the course! 
of two or three hours, and his was the only life lost. 

The history of Mississippi piloting affords six or seven 
instances of this sort of martyrdom, and half a hundred' 
instances of escape from a like fate which came within a' 
second or two of being fatally too late; but there is no 
instance of a pilot deserting his post to save his life while, by 
remaining afid saci'ificing it, he jnight secure other lives from 
destruction. It is well worth while to set down this noble 
fact, and well worth while to put it in italics, too. 

The ''cub" pilot is early admonished to despise all 
perils connected with a pilot's calling, and to prefer any 
sort of death to the deep dishonor of deserting his post 
while there is any possibility of his being useful in it. 
And so effectively are these admonitions inculcated that 
even young and but half-tried pilots can be depended 
upon to stick to the wheel, and die there when occasion 
requires. In a Memphis graveyard is buried a young 
fellow who perished at the wheel a great many years ago, 



345 



in V/hite River, to save the lives of other men. He 
said to the captain that if the fire would give him time to 
reach a sand-bar, some distance away, all could be saved, 
but that to land against the bluff bank of the river would 
be to ensure the loss of many lives. He reached the bar 
and grounded the boat in shallow water; but by that time 
the flames had closed around him, and in escaping 
through them he was fatally burned. He had been urged 
to fly sooner, but had replied as became a pilot to reply: 

''I will not go. If I go, nobody will be saved. If I 
stay, no one will be lost but me. I will stay." 

There were two hundred persons on board, and no life 
was lost but the pilot's. There used to be a monument 
to this young fellow in that Memphis graveyard. While 
we tarried in Memphis on our down trip, I started out to 
look for it, but our time was so brief that I was obliged 
to turn back before my object was accomplished. 

The tug-boat gossip informed me that Dick Kennet 
was dead — blown up, near Memphis, and killed; that 
several others whom I had known had fallen in the war — 
one or two of them shot down at the wheel; that another 
and very particular friend, whom I had steered many 
trips for, had stepped out of his house in New Orleans, 
one- night years ago, to collect some money in a remote 
part of the city, and had never been seen again — was 
murdered and thrown into the river, it was thought; 
that Ben Thornburgh was dead long ago; also his wild 
"cub," whom I used to quarrel with all through every 
daylight watch. A heedless, reckless creature he was, 
and alwaj^s in hot water, always in mischief. An 
Arkansas passenger brought an enormous bear aboard 
one day, and chained him to a life-boat on the hurricane 
deck. Thornburgh's ''cub" could not rest till he had 
gone there and unchained the bear, to "see what he 
would do." He was promptly gratified. The bear 



340 



chased him around and around the deck, for miles and 
miles, with two hundred eager faces grinning through 
the railings for audience, and finally snatched off the 
lad's coat-tail and went into the texas to chew it. The 
off-watch turned out with alacrity, and left the bear in 
sole possession. He presently grew lonesome, and 
started out for recreation. He ranged the whole boat — 
visited every part of it, with an advance guard of fleeing 
people in front of him and a voiceless vacancy behind 
him; and when his owner captured him at last, those two 
were the only visible beings anywhere; every-body else 
was in hiding, and the boat was a solitude. 

I was told that one of my pilot friends fell dead at the 
wheel, from heart disease, in 1869. The captain was on 
the roof at the time. He saw the boat breaking for the 
shore; shouted, and got no answer; ran up, and found 
the pilot lying dead on the floor. 

Mr. Bixby had been blown up in Madrid bend; was 
not injured, but the other pilot was lost. 

George Ritchie had been blown up near Memphis — 
blown into the river from the wheel, and disabled. The 
water was very cold; he clung to a cotton bale — mainly 
with his teeth — and floated until nearly exhausted, when 
he was rescued by some deck-hands who were on a piece 
of the wreck. They tore open the bale and packed him 
in the cotton, and warmed the life back into him, and 
got him safe to Memphis. He is one of Bixby's pilots on 
the Bato7i Rouge now. 

Into the life of a steamboat clerk, now dead, had 
dropped a bit of romance — somewhat grotesque romance, 
but romance nevertheless. When I knew him he was a 
shiftless young spendthrift, boisterous, good-hearted, full 
of careless generosities, and pretty conspicuously promis- 
ing to fool his possibilities away early, and come to 
nothing. In a Western city lived a rich and childless old 



347 



foreigner and his wife; and in their family was a comely 
young girl — sort of friend, sort of servant. The young 
clerk of whom I have been speaking, — whose name was 
not George Johnson, but who shall be called George 
Johnson for the purposes of this narrative, — got ac- 
quainted with this young girl, and they sinned; and the 
old foreigner found them out and rebuked them. Being 
ashamed, they lied, and said they were married; that 
they had been privately married. Then the old for- 
eigner's hurt was healed, and he forgave and blessed 
them. After that, they were able to continue their sin 
v/ithout concealment. By and by the foreigner's wife 
died; and presently he followed after her. Friends of 
the family assembled to mourn; and among the mourners 
sat the two young sinners. The will was opened and 
solemnly read. It bequeathed every penny of that old 
man's great wealth to Mrs. George Johnson ! 

iVnd there was no such person. The young sinners 
fled forth then and did a very foolish thing: married 
themselves before an obscure justice of the peace, and 
got him to antedate the thing. That did no sort of good. 
The distant relatives flocked in and exposed the fraudful 
date with extreme suddenness and surprising ease, and 
carried off the fortune, leaving the Johnsons very legiti- 
mately, and legally, and irrevocably chained together in 
honorable marriage, but with not so much as a penny to 
bless themselves withal. Such are the actual facts; and 
not all novels have for a base so tellino- a situation. 



CHAPTER L 
THE ''ORIGINAL JACOBS" 

We had some talk about Captain Isaiah Sellers, now 
many years dead. He was a fine man, a high-minded 
man, and greatly respected both ashore and on the river. 
He was very tall, well built, and handsome; and in his 
old age — as I remember him — his hair was as black as an 
Indian's, and his eye and hand were as strong and steady 
and his nerve and judgment as firm and clear as any 
body's, young or old, among the fraternity of pilots. He 
was the patriarch of the craft; he had been a keelboat 
pilot before the day of steamboats; and a steamboat 
pilot before any other steamboat pilot, still surviving at 
the time I speak of, had ever turned a wheel. Conse- 
quently, his brethren held him in the sort of awe in which 
illustrious survivors of a by-gone age are always held by 
their associates. He knew how he was regarded, and 
perhaps this fact added some trifle of stiffening to his 
natural dignity, which had been sufficiently stiff in its 
original state. 

He left a diary behind him; but apparently it did not 
date back to his first steamboat trip, which was said to be 
1811, the year the first steamboat disturbed the waters of 
the Mississippi. At the time of his death a correspond- 
ent of the Sf. Louis Republican culled the following items 
from the diary: 

In February, 1825, he shipped on board the steamer Ram- 
bler, at Florence, Ala., and made during that year three trips to 
New Orleans and back — this oathe General Carrol, between Nash- 



349 



ville and New Orleans. It was during his stay on this boat that 
Captain Sellers introduced the tap of the bell as a signal to heave 
the lead ; previous to which time it was the custom for the pilot to 
speak to the men below when soundings were wanted. The 
proximity of the forecastle to the pilot-house, no doubt, rendered 
this an easy matter ; but how different on one of our palaces of 
the present day ! 

In 1827 we find him on board the President, a boat of two 
hundred and eighty-five tons burden, and plying between Smith- 
land and New Orleans. Thence he joined iht Jubilee in 1828, 
and on this boat he did his first piloting in the St. Louis trade ; 
his first watch extending from Herculaneum to St. Genevieve. 
On May 26, 1836, he completed and left Pittsburg in charge of the 
steamer Prairie, a boat of four hundred tons, and the first 
steamer with a state-room cabin ever seen at St. Louis. In 1857 
he introduced the signal for meeting boats, and which has, with 
some slight change, been the universal custom of this day ; in fact, 
is rendered obligatory by act of Congress. 

As general items of river history, we quote the following 
marginal notes from his general log : 

In March, 1825, General Lafayette left New Orleans for St. 
Louis on the low-pressure steamer Natchez. 

In January, 1828, twenty-one steamers left the New Orleans 
wharf to celebrate the occasion of General Jackson's visit to that 
city. 

In 1830 the North Ajnerican made the run from New Orleans 
to Memphis in six days — best time on record to that date. It has 
since been made in two days and ten hours. 

In 1831 the Red River cut-off formed. 

In 1832 steamer Hudson made the run from White River to 
Helena, a distance of seventy-five miles, in twelve hours. This 
was the source of much talk and speculation among parties directly 
interested. 

In 1839 Great Horsehoe cut-off formed. 

Up to the present time, a term of thirty-five years, we ascer- 
tain, by reference to the diary, he has made four hundred and 
sixty round trips to New Orleans, which gives a distance of one 
million one hundred and four thousand miles, or an average of 
eighty-six miles a day. 



350 



Whenever Captain Sellers approached a body of gossip- 
ing pilots, a chill fell there, and talking ceased. For 
this reason: whenever six pilots were gathered together, 
there would always be one or two newly fledged ones in 
the lot, and the elder ones would be always '' showing 
off " before these poor fellows; making them sorrowfully 
feel how callow they were, how recent their nobility, and 
how humble their degree, by talking largely and vapor- 
ously of old-time experiences on the river; always mak- 
ing it a point to date every thing back as far as they 
could, so as to make the new men feel their newness to 
the sharpest degree possible, and envy the old stagers 
in the like degree. And how these complacent bald- 
heads would swell, and brag, and lie, and date back — 
ten, fifteen, twenty years, and how they did enjoy 
the effect produced upon the marvelling and envying 
youngsters ! 

And perhaps just at this happy stage of the proceed- 
ings, the stately figure of Captain Isaiah Sellers, that 
real and only genuine Son of Antiquity, would drift 
solemnly into the midst. Imagine the size of the silence 
that would result on the instant! And imagine the feel- 
ings of those bald-heads, and the exultation of their 
recent audience, when the ancient captain would begin 
to drop casual and indifferent remarks of a reminiscent 
nature — about islands that had disappeared, and cut-offs 
that had been made, a generation before the oldest bald- 
head in the company had ever set his foot in a pilot- 
house ! 

Many and many a time did this ancient mariner appear 
on the scene in the above fashion, and spread disaster 
and humiliation around him. If one might believe the 
pilots, he always dated his islands back to the misty 
dawn of river history; and he never used the same 
island twice; and never did he employ an island that 



351 



still existed, or give one a name which any body present 
was old enough to have heard of before. If you might 
believe the pilots, he was always conscientiously particu- 
lar about little details; never spoke of '*the State of 
Mississippi," for instance — no, he would say, "When 
the State of Mississippi was where Arkansas now is"; 
and would never speak of Louisiana or Missouri in a 
general way, and leave an incorrect impression on your 
mind — no, he would say, "When Louisiana was up the 
river farther," or " When Missouri was on the Illinois 
side." 

The old gentleman was not of literary turn or capac- 
ity, but he used to jot down brief paragraphs of plain, 
practical information about the river, and sign them 
"Mark Twain," and give them to the New Orleans 
Picayune. They related to the stage and condition of 
the river, and were accurate and valuable; and thus far, 
they contained no poison. But in speaking of the stage 
of the river to-day, at a given point, the captain was 
pretty apt to drop in a little remark about this being the 
first time he had seen the water so high or so low at that 
particular point in forty-nine years; and now and then 
he would mention Island so and so, and follow it, in 
parentheses, with some such observation as "disap- 
peared in 1807, if I remember rightly." In these 
antique interjections lay poison and bitterness for the 
other old pilots, and they used to chaff the " Mark 
Twain " paragraphs with unsparing mockery. 

It so chanced that one of these paragraphs * became 

* The original MS. of it, in the captain's own hand, has been sent to 
me from New Orleans. It reads as follows : 

"ViCKSBURG, May 4, 1859. 
" My opinion for the benefit of the citizens of New Orleans: The 
water is higher this far up than it has been since 181 5. My opinion is 



352 



the text for my first newspaper article. I burlesqued it 
broadly, very broadly, stringing my fantastics out to the 
extent of eight hundred or a thousand words. I was a 
*'cub" at the time. I showed my performance to some 
pilots, and they eagerly rushed it into print in the New 
Orleans True Delta. It was a great pity; for it did 
nobody any worthy service, and it sent a pang deep into 
a good man's heart. There was no malice in my rub- 
bish; but it laughed at the captain. It laughed at a man 
to whom such a thing was new and strange and dreadful. 
I did not know then, though I do now, that there is no 
suffering comparable with that which a private person 
feels when he is for the first time pilloried in print. 

Captain Sellers did me the honor to profoundly detest B 
me from that day forth. When I say he did me the 
honor, I am not using empty words. It was a very 
real honor to be in the thoughts of so great a man as 
Captain Sellers, and I had wit enough to appreciate it 
and be proud of it. It was distinction to be loved by 
such a man; but it was a much greater distinction to be 
hated by him, because he loved scores of people; but he 
didn't sit up nights to hate any body but me. 

He never printed another paragraph while he lived, 
and he never again signed ''Mark Twain" to any thing. 
At the time that the telegraph brought the news of his 
death, I was on the Pacific coast. I was a fresh, new 
journalist, and needed a nom de guerre; so I confiscated 
the ancient mariner's discarded one, and have done my 
best to make it remain what it was in his hands — a sign 
and symbol and warrant that whatever is found in its 
company may be gambled on as being the petrified 

that the water will be 4 feet deep in Canal street before the first of next 
June. Mrs. Turner's plantation at the head of Big Black Island is all 
underwater, and it has not been since 1815. 

"I. Sellers." 



353 



truth. How I've succeeded, it would not be modest in 
me to say. 

The captain had an honorable pride in his profession 
and an abiding love for it. He ordered his monument 
before he died, and kept it near him until he did die. It 
stands over his grave now, in Bellefontaine Cemetery, St. 
Louis. It is his image, in marble, standing on duty at 
the pilot wheel; and worthy to stand and confront criti- 
cism, for it represents a man who in life would have 
stayed there till he burned to a cinder, if duty re- 
quired it. 

The finest thing we saw on our whole Mississippi trip, 
we saw as we approached New Orleans in the steam-tug. 
This was the curving frontage of the Crescent City lit up 
with the white glare of five miles of electric lights. It 
was a wonderful sight, and very beautiful. 



CHAPTER LI 
REMINISCENCES 

We left for St. Louis in the City of Baton Rouge, on a 
delightfully hot day, but with the main purpose of my 
visit but lamely accomplished. I had hoped to hunt up 
and talk with a hundred steamboatmen, but got so pleas- 
antly involved in the social life of the town that I got 
nothing more than mere five-minute talks with a couple 
of dozen of the craft. 

I was on the bench of the pilot-house when we backed 
out and ''straightened up" for the start — the boai paus- 
ing for a "good ready," in the old-fashioned way, and 
the black smoke piling out of the chimneys equally 
in the old-fashioned way. Then we began to gather 
momentum, and presently were fairly under way and 
booming along. It was all as natural and familiar — and 
so were the shoreward sights — as if there had been no 
break in my river life. There was a ''cub," and I 
judged that he would take the wheel now; and he did. 
Captain Bixby stepped into the pilot-house. Presently 
the cub closed up on the rank of steamships. He made 
me nervous, for he allowed too much water to show 
between our boat and the ships. I knew quite well what 
was going to happen, because I could date back in my 
own life and inspect the record. The captain looked on, 
during a silent half-minute, then took the wheel himself, 
and crowded the boat in, till she went scraping along 
within a hand-breadth of the ships. It was exactly the 
favor which he had done me, about a quarter of a cen- 
tury before, in that same spot, the first time I ever 



355 



Steamed out of the port of New Orleans. It was a very 
great and sincere pleasure to me to see the thing 
repeated — with somebody else as victim. 

We made Natchez (three hundred miles) in twenty- 
two hours and a half — much the swiftest passage I have 
ever made over that piece of water. 

The next morning I came on with the four o'clock 
watch, and saw Ritchie successfully run half a dozen 
crossings in a fog, using for his guidance the marked 
chart devised and patented by Bixby and himself. This 
sufficiently evidenced the great value of the chart. 

By and by, when the fog began to clear off, I noticed 
that the reflection of a tree in the smooth v/ater of an 
overflowed bank, six hundred yards away, was stronger 
and blacker than the ghostly tree itself. The faint, spec- 
tral trees, dimly glimpsed through the shredding fog, 
were very pretty things to see. 

We had a heavy thunder-storm at Natchez, another at 
Vicksburg, and still another about fifty miles below 
Memphis. They had an old-fashioned energy which had 
long been unfamiliar to me. This third storm was 
accompanied by a raging wind. We tied up to the bank 
when we saw the tempest coming, and every-body left 
the pilot-house but me. The wind bent the young trees 
down, exposing the pale underside of the leaves ; and 
gust after gust followed, in qui-ck succession, thrashing 
the branches violently up and down, and to this side and 
that, and creating swift waves of alternating green and 
white, according to the side of the leaf that was exposed, 
and these waves raced after each other as do their kind 
over a wind-tossed field of oats. No. color that was 
visible anywhere was quite natural — all tints were 
charged with a leaden tinge from the solid cloud-bank 
overhead. The river was leaden, all distances the 
same ; and even the far-reaching ranks of combing 



356 



white-caps were dully shaded by the dark, rich atmos- 
phere through which their swarming legions marched. 
The thunder-peals were constant and deafening ; explo- 
sion followed explosion with but inconsequential inter- 
vals between, and the reports grew steadily sharper and 
higher-keyed, and more trying to the ear; the lightning 
was as diligent as the thunder, and produced effects 
which enchanted the eye and sent electric ecstasies of 
mixed delight and apprehension shivering along every 
nerve in the body in unintermittent procession. The 
rain poured down in amazing volume ; the ear-splitting 
thunder-peals broke nearer and nearer ; the wind 
increased in fury and began to wrench off boughs and 
tree-tops and send them sailing away through space; 
the pilot-house fell to rocking and straining and cracking 
and surging, and I went down in the hold to see what 
time it was. 

People boast a good deal about Alpine thunder-storms; 
but the storms which I have had the luck to see in the 
Alps were not the equals of some which I have seen in 
the Mississippi Valley. I may not have seen the Alps do 
their best, of course, and if they can beat the Mississippi, 
I don't wish to. 

On this up trip I saw a little towhead (infant island) 
half a mile long, which had been formed during the past 
nineteen years. Since there was so much time to spare 
that nineteen years of it could be devoted to the construc- 
tion of a mere towhead, where was the use, originally, in 
rushing this whole globe through in six days ? It is 
likely that if more time had been taken, in the first place, 
the world would have been made right, and this ceaseless 
improving and repairing would not be necessary now. 
But if you hurry a world or a house, you are nearly sure 
to find out by and by that you have left out a towhead, 
or a broom-closet, or some other little convenience, here 



357 



and there, which has got to be supplied, no matter how 
much expense or vexation it may cost. 

We had a succession of black nights, going up the 
river, and it was observable that whenever we landed, 
and suddenly inundated the trees with the intense sun- 
burst of the electric light, a certain curious effect was 
always produced: hundreds of birds flocked instantly out 
from the masses of shining green foliage, and went 
careering hither and thither through the white rays, and 
often a song-bird tuned up and fell to singing. We 
judged that they mistook this superb artificial day for the 
genuine article. 

We had a delightful trip in that thoroughly well-ordered 
steamer, and regretted that it was accomplished so 
speedily. By means of diligence and activity, we 
managed to hunt out nearly all the old friends. One was 
missing, however; he went to his reward, whatever it 
was, two years ago. But I found out all about him. 
His case helped me to realize how lasting can be the 
effect of a very trifling occurrence. When he was an 
apprentice-blacksmith in our village, and I a schoolboy, 
a couple of young Englishmen came to the town and 
sojourned a while; and one day they got themselves up 
in cheap royal finery and did the Richard III. sword- 
fight with maniac energy and prodigious powwow, in the 
presence of the village boys. This blacksmith cub was 
there, and the histrionic poison entered his bones. This 
vast, lumbering, ignorant, dull-witted lout w^as stage- 
struck, and irrecoverably. He disappeared, and presently 
turned up in St. Louis. I ran across him there, by and 
by. He was standing musing on a street corner, with 
his right hand on his hip, the thumb of his left sup- 
porting his chin, face bowed and frowning, slouch hat 
pulled down over his forehead — imagining himself to be 
Othello or some such character, and imagining that the 



358 



passing crowd marked his tragic bearing and were awe- 
struck. 

I joined him, and tried to get him down out of the 
clouds, but did not succeed. However, he casually 
informed me, presently, that he was a member of the 
Walnut Street Theatre company — and he tried to say it 
with indifference, but the indifference was thin, and a 
mighty exultation showed through it. He said he was 
cast for a part in ''Julius Caesar," for that night, and if I 
should come I would see him. If I should come ! I said 
I wouldn't miss it if I were dead. 

I went away stupefied with astonishment, and saying to 
myself, " How strange it is ! we always thought this fel- 
.low a fool; yet the moment he comes to a great city, 
where intelligence and appreciation abound, the talent 
concealed in this shabby napkin is at once discovered, and 
promptly welcomed and honored." 

But I came away from the theatre that night disap- 
pointed and offended; for I had had no glimpse of my 
hero, and his name was not in the bills. I met him on 
the street the next morning, and before I could speak, he 
asked : 

" Did you see me ? " 

" No, you weren't there." 

He looked surprised and disappointed. He said : 

"Yes, I was. Indeed I was. I was a Roman soldier." 

** Which one ? " 

"Why, didn't you see them Roman soldiers that stood 
back there in a rank, and sometimes marched in proces- 
sion around the stage ? " 

" Do you mean the Roman army ? — those six sandalled 
roustabouts in nightshirts, with tin shields and helmets, 
that marched around treading on each other's heels, in 
charge of a spider-legged consumptive dressed like them- 
selves ? " 



359 



*' That's it ! that's it ! I was one of them Roman sol- 
diers. I was the next to the last one. A half a year ago 
I used to always be the last one ; but I've been promoted. " 

Well, they told me that that poor fellow remained a 
Roman soldier to the last — a matter of thirty-four years. 
Sometimes they cast him for a " speaking part," but not 
an elaborate one. He could be trusted to go and say, 
"My lord, the carriage waits," but if they ventured to 
add a sentence or two to this, his memory felt the strain 
and he was likely to miss fire. Yet, poor devil, he had 
been patiently studying the part of Hamlet for more than 
thirty years, and he lived and died in the belief that some 
day he would be invited to play it! 

And this is what came of that fleeting visit of those 
young Englishmen to our village such ages and ages ago! 
What noble horseshoes this man might have made, but 
for those Englishmen; and what an inadequate Roman 
soldier he did make ! 

A day or two after we reached St. Louis, I was walk- 
ing along Fourth Street when a grizzly-headed man gave 
a sort of start as he passed me, then stopped, came back, 
inspected me narrowly, with a clouding brow, and finally 
said with deep asperity : 

"Look here, have y on got that drink yet ? " 

A maniac, I judged, at first. But all in a flash I recog- 
nized him. I made an effort to blush that strained every 
muscle in me, and answered as sweetly and winningly as 
ever I knew how : 

"Been a little slow, but am just this minute closing in 
on the place where they keep it. Come in and help ! " 

He softened, and said make it a bottle of champagne 
and he was agreeable. He said he had seen my name in 
the papers, and had put all his affairs aside and turned 
out, resolved to find me or die ; and make me answer 
that question satisfactorily, or kill me ; though the most 



36o 



of his late asperity had been rather counterfeit than 
otherwise. 

This meeting brought back to me the St. Louis riots of 
about thirty years ago. I spent a week there, at that 
time, in a boarding-house, and had this young fellow for 
a neighbor across the hall. We saw some of the fight- 
ings and killings; and by and by we went one night to 
an armory where two hundred young men had met, upon 
call, to be armed and go forth against the rioters, under 
command of a military man. We drilled till about ten 
o'clock at night; then news came that the mob were 
in great force in the lower end of the town, and were 
sweeping every thing before them. Our column moved 
at once. It w^as a very hot night, and my musket was 
very heavy. We marched and marched; and the nearer 
we approached the seat of war, the hotter I grew 
and the thirstier I got. I was behind my friend; so 
finally, I asked him to hold my musket while I dropped 
out and got a drink. Then I branched off and went 
home. I was not feeling any solicitude about ///;;/ of 
course, because I knew he was so well armed now that he 
could take care of himself without any trouble. If I had 
had any doubts about that, I would have borrowed an- 
other musket for him. I left the city pretty early the 
next morning, and if this grizzled man had not happened 
to encounter my name in the papers the other day in St. 
Louis, and felt moved to seek me out, I should have 
carried to my grave a heart-torturing uncertainty as to 
whether he ever got out of the riots all right or not. I 
ought to have enquired, thirty years ago; I know that. 
And I would have enquired, if I had had the muskets; 
but, in the circumstances, he seemed better fixed to con- 
duct the investigations than I was. 

One Monday, near the time of our visit to St. Louis, 
the Globe-Democrat came out with a couple of pages 



36i 



of Sunday statistics, whereby it appeared that 119,448 St. 
Louis people attended the morning and evening church 
services the day before, and 23,102 children attended 
Sunday-school. Thus 142,550 persons, out of the city's 
total of 400,000 population, respected the day religious- 
wise. I found these statistics, in a condensed form, in a 
telegram of the Associated Press, and preserved them. 
They made it apparent that St. Louis was in a higher 
state of grace than she could have claimed to be in my time. 
But now that. I canvass the figures narrowly, I suspect 
that the telegraph mutilated them. It cannot be that 
there are more than 150,000 Catholics in the town; the 
other 250,000 must be classified as Protestants. Out of 
these 250,000, according to this questionable telegram, 
only 26,362 attended church and Sunday-school, while 
out of the 150,000 Catholics, 116,188 went to church and 
Sunday-school. 



I 



CHAPTER LII 
A BURNING BRAND 

All at once the thought came into my mind, " I have 
not sought out Mr. Brown." 

Upon that text I desire to depart from the direct line 
of my subject and make a little excursion. I wish to 
reveal a secret which I have carried with me nine years 
and which has become burdensome. 

Upon a certain occasion, nine years ago, I had said, 
with strong feeling, "If ever I see St. Louis again, I 
will seek out Mr. Brown, the great grain merchant, and 
ask of him the privilege of shaking him by the hand." 

The occasion and the circumstances were as follows. 
A friend of mine, a clergyman, came one evening and 
said : 

" I have a most remarkable letter here, which I want 
to read to you, if I can do it without breaking down. I 
must preface it with some explanations, however. The 
letter is written by an ex-thief and ex-vagabond of the 
lowest origin and basest rearing, a man all stained with 
crime and steeped in ignorance ; but, thank God! with a 
mine of pure gold hidden away in him, as you shall see. 
His letter is written to a burglar named Williams, who is 
serving a nine-year term in a certain State prison, for 
burglary. Williams was a particularly daring burglar 
and plied that trade during a number of years; but he 
was caught at last and jailed, to await trial in a town 
where he had broken into a house at night, pistol in 
hand, and forced the owner to hand over to him eight 
thousand dollars in government bonds. Williams was 



363 



not a common sort of person, by any means; he was a 
graduate of Harvard College and came of good New 
England stock. His father was a clergyman. While 
lying in jail, his health began to fail, and he was 
threatened with consumption. This fact, together with 
the opportunity for reflection afforded by solitary con- 
finement, had its effect— its natural effect. He fell into 
serious thought; his early training asserted itself with 
power, and wrought with strong influence upon his mind 
and heart. He put his old life behind him and became 
an earnest Christian. Some ladies in the town heard of 
this, visited him, and by their encouraging words sup- 
ported him in his good resolutions and strengthened him 
to continue in his new life. The trial ended in his con- 
viction and sentence to the State prison for the term of 
nine years, as I have before said. In the prison he 
became acquainted with the poor wretch referred to in 
the beginning of my talk. Jack Hunt, the writer of the 
letter which I am going to read. You will see that the 
acquaintanceship bore fruit for Hunt. When Hunt's 
time was out, he wandered to St. Louis; and from that 
place he wrote his letter to Williams. The letter got no 
further than the office of the prison warden, of course; 
prisoners are not often allowed to receive letters from 
outside. The prison authorities read this letter, but did 
not destroy it. They had not the heart to do it. They 
read it to several persons, and eventually it fell into the 
hands of those ladies of whom I spoke a while ago. The 
other day I came across an old friend of mine — a clergy- 
man — who had seen this letter, and was full of it. The 
mere remembrance of it so moved him that he could not 
talk of it without his voice breaking. He promised to 
get a copy of it for me; and here it is — an exact copy, 
with all the imperfections of the original preserved. It 
has many slang expressions in it — thieves' argot — but 



3^4 



their meaning has been interlined, in parentheses, by the 
prison authorities : 

St. Louis, June 9th, 1872. 

Mr. W friend Charlie if i may call you so : i no you are 

surprised to get a letter from me, but i hope you won't be mad at 
my writing to you. i want to tell you my thanks for the way you 
talked to me when i was in prison — it has led me to try and be a 
better man ; i guess you thought i did not cair for what you said, 
& at the first go off I did n't, but i noed you was a man who had 
don big work with good men & want no sucker, nor want gasing 
& all the boys knod it. 

I used to think at nite what you said, & for it i nocked off 
swearing 5 months before my time was up, for i saw it want no 
good, nohow — the day my time was up you told me if i would 
shake the cross {quit stealiftg), & live on the square for 3 months, 
it would be the best job i ever done in my life. The state agent 
give me a ticket to here, & on the car i thought more of what you 
said to me, but didn't make up my mind. When we got to 
Chicago on the cars from there to here, I pulled off an old 
woman's leather {robbed her of her pocket-book) ; i had n't no 
more than got it off when i wished i had n't done it, for awhile 
before that i made up my mind to be a square bloke, for 3 months 
on your word, but forgot it when i saw the leather was a grip 
{easy to get) — but i kept clos to her & when she got out of the cars 
at a way place i said, marm have you lost anything.^ & she 
tumbled {discovered) her leather was off {gone) — is this it says i, 
giving it to her — well if you aint honest, says she, but i had n't got 
cheak enough to stand that sort of talk, so i left her in a hurry. 
When i got here i had $1 and 25 cents left & i didn't get no 
work for 3 days as i aint strong enough for roust about on a steam 
bote {for a deck hand) — The afternoon of the 3d day I spent my 
last 10 cts for 2 moons {large, roimd sea-biscuit) & cheese & i 
felt pretty rough & was thinking i would have to go on the dipe 
{picking pockets) again, when i thought of what you once said 
about a fellows calling on the Lord when he was in hard luck, & i 
thought i would try it once anyhow, but when i tryed it i got stuck 
on the start, «S: all i could get off wos. Lord give a poor fellow a 
chance to square it for 3 months for Christ's sake, amen ; & i kept 



365 



a thinking, of it over and over as i went along — about an hour 
after that i was in 4th St. & this is what happened & is the cause 
of my being where i am now & about which i will tell you before i 
get done writing. As i was walking along i herd a big noise & 
saw a horse running away with a carriage with 2 children in it, & 
I grabed up a peace of box cover from the side walk & run in the 
middle of the street, & when the horse came up i smashed him 
over the head as hard as i could drive — the bord split to peces & the 
horse checked up a little & i grabbed the reigns & pulled his head 
down until he stopped — the gentleman what owned him came run- 
ning up & soon as he saw the children were all rite, he shook hands 
with me & gave me a $50 green back, & my asking the Lord to 
help me come into my head, & i was so thunderstruck i could n't 
drop the reigns nor say nothing — he saw something was up, & 
coming back to me said, my boy are you hurt? & the thought 
come into my head just then to ask him for work ; & i asked him 
to take back the bill and give me a job — says he, jump in here & 
lets talk about it, but keep the money — he asked me if i could 
take care of horses & i said yes, for i used to hang round livery 
stables & often would help clean & drive horses, he told me he 
wanted a man for that work, & would give me ^16. a month & 
bord me. You bet i took that chance at once, that nite in my 
little room over the stable i sat a long time thinking over my past 
life & of what had just happened & i just got down on my nees & 
thanked the Lord for the job & to help me to square it, & to bless 
you for putting me up to it, & the next morning i done it again & 
got me some new togs {clothes) & a bible for i made up my miiid 
after what the Lord had done for me i would read the bible every 
nite and morning, & ask him to keep an eye on me. When I had 
been there about a week Mr Brown (that's his name) came in my 
room one nite & saw me reading the bible — he asked me if i was 
a Christian & i told him no — he asked me how it was i read the 
bible instead of papers & books — Well Charlie i thought i had 
better give him a square deal in the start, so i told him all about 
my being in prison & about you, & how i had almost done give 
up looking for work & how the Lord got me the job when i asked 
him ; & the only way i had to pay him back was to read the bible 
& square it, & i asked him to give me a chance for 3 months — he 
talked to me like a father for a long time, & told me i could stay 



I 



366 



& then i felt better than ever i had done in my hfe, for i had given 
Mr. Brown a fair start with me & now i did n't fear no one giving 
me a back cap {exposing his past life) & running me off the job — 
the next morning he called me into the library & gave me another 
square talk, & advised me to study some every day, & he would 
help me one or 2 hours every nite, & he gave me a Arithmetic, a 
spelling book, a Geography & a writing book, & he hers me every 
nite — he lets me come into the house to prayers every morning, & 
got me put in a bible class in the Sunday School which i likes 
very much for it helps me to understand my bible better. 

Now, Charlie the 3 months on the square are up 2 months ago, 
&as you said, it is the best job i ever did in my life,& i commenced 
another of the same sort right away, only it is to God helping me 
to last a lifetime Charlie — i wrote this letter to tell you I do think 
God has forgiven my sins & herd your prayers, for you told me you 
should pray for me — i no i love to read his word & tell him all my 
troubles & he helps me i know for i have plenty of chances to steal 
but i don't feel to as i once did & now i take more pleasure in going 
to church than to the theatre & that wasn't so once — our minister 
and others often talk with me & a month ago they wanted me to 
join the church, but I said no, not now, i may be mistaken in my 
feelings, i will wait awhile, but now i feel that God has called me & 
on the first Sunday in July i will join the church — dear friend i 
wish i could write to you as i feel, but i cant do it yet — you no i 
learned to read and write while in prisons & i aint got well enough 
along to write as i would talk ; i no i aint spelled all the words rite 
in this & lots of other mistakes but you will excuse it i no, for you 
no i was brought up in a poor house until i run away, & that i 
never new who my father and mother was & i don't no my rite 
name, & i hope you wont bemad at me, but i have as much rite to 
one name as another & i have taken your name, for you wont use 
it when you get out i no, & you are the man i think most of in the 
world ; so i hope you wont be mad — I am doing well, i put %\o a 
month in bank with $25 of the $50 — if you ever want any or all 
of it let me know, & it is yours, i wish you would let me send you 
some now. I send you with this a receipt for a year of Littles 
Living Age, i did n't know what you would like & i told Mr Brown 
& he said he thought you would like it — i wish i was nere you so 
i could send you chuck {refres/unen/s) on holidays ; it would spoil 



367 



this weather from here, but i will send you a box next thanksgiving 
any way — next week Mr Brown takes me into his store as lite 
porter & will advance me as soon as i know a little more — he 
keeps a big granary store, wholesale — i forgot to tell you of my 
mission school, Sunday school class — the school is in the Sunday 
afternoon, i went out two Sunday afternoons, and picked up seven 
kids {little boys) & got them to come in. Two of them new as 
much as i did & i had them put in a class where they could learn 
something, i don't no much myself, but as these kids cant read i 
get on nicely with them, i make sure of them by going after them 
every Sunday ^ hour before school time, i also got 4 girls to come, 
tell Mack and Harry about me, if they will come out here when 
their time is up i will get them jobs at once, i hope you will ex- 
cuse this long letter & all mistakes, i wish i could see you for i cant 
write as i would talk — i hope the warm weather is doing your lungs 
good — i was afraid when you was bleeding you would die — give 
my respects to all the boys and tell them how i am doing — i am 
doing well and every one here treats me as kind as they can — Mr 
Brown is going to write to you sometime — i hope some day you 
will write to me, this letter is from your very true friend 

C W 

who you know as Jack Hunt. 
I send you Mr Brown's card. Send my letter to him. 

Here was true eloquence; irresistible eloquence; and 
without a single grace or ornament to help it out. I 
have seldom been so deeply stirred by any piece of writ- 
ing. The reader of it halted, all the way through, on a 
lame and broken voice; yet he had tried to fortify his 
feelings by several private readings of the letter before 
venturing into company with it. He was practising upon 
me to see if there was any hope of his being able to read 
the document to his prayer-meeting with any thing like a 
decent command over his feelings. The result was not 
promising. However, he determined to risk it; and did. 
He got through tolerably well; but his audience broke 
down early, and stayed in that condition to the end. 



368 



The fame of the letter spread through the town. A 
brother minister came and borrowed the manuscript, put 
it bodily into a sermon, preached the sermon to twelve 
hundred people on a Sunday morning, and the letter 
drowned them in their own tears. Then my friend put 
it into a sermon and went before his Sunday morning 
congregation with it. It scored another triumph. The 
house wept as one individual. 

My friend went on summer vacation up into the fishing 
regions of our northern British neighbors, and carried 
this sermon with him, since he might possibly chance to 
need a sermon. He was asked to preach one day. The 
little church was full. Among the people present were 
the late Dr. J. G. Holland, the late Mr. Seymour of the 
New York Times, Mr. Page, the philanthropist and 
temperance advocate, and, I think. Senator Frye of 
Maine. The marvellous letter did its wonted work; all 
the people were moved, all the people wept; the tears 
flowed in a steady stream down Dr. Holland's cheeks, 
and nearly the same can be said with regard to all who 
were there. Mr. Page was so full of enthusiasm over the 
letter that he said he would not rest until he made pil- 
grimage to that prison, and had speech with the man 
who had been able to inspire a fellow-unfortunate to write 
so priceless a tract. 

Ah, that unlucky Page! — and another man. If they 
had only been in Jericho, that letter would have rung 
through the world and stirred all the hearts of all the 
nations for a thousand years to come, and nobody might 
ever have found out that it was the confoundedest, 
brazenest, ingeniousest piece of fraud and humbuggery 
that was ever concocted to fool poor confiding mortals 
with ! 

The letter was a pure swindle, and that is the truth. 
And take it by and large, it was without a compeer among 



369 



swindles. It was perfect, it was rounded, symmetrical, 
complete, colossal ! 

The reader learns it at this point; but we didn't learn 
it till some miles and weeks beyond this stage of the 
affair. My friend came back from the woods, and he 
and other clergymen and lay missionaries began once 
more to inundate audiences with their tears and the tears 
of said audiences; I begged hard for permission to print 
the letter in a magazine and tell the watery story of its 
triumphs; numbers of people got copies of the letter, 
with permission to circulate them in waiting, but not in 
print; copies were sent to the Sandwich Islands and 
other far regions. 

Charles Dudley Warner was at church, one day, when 
the worn letter was read and wept over. x\t the church 
door, afterward, he dropped a peculiarly cold iceberg 
down the clergyman's back with the question: 

" Do you know that letter to be genuine?" 

It was the first suspicion that had ever been voiced; 
but it had that sickening effect which first-uttered sus- 
picions against one's idol always have. Some talk 
followed: 

''Why — what should make you suspect that it isn't 
genuine ?" 

"Nothing that I know of, except that it is too neat, 
and compact, and fluent, and nicely put together for an 
ignorant person, an unpractised hand. I think it was 
done by an educated man." 

The literary artist had detected the literary machinery. 
If you will look at the letter now, you v>^ill detect it your- 
self — it is observable in every line. 

Straightway the clergyman went off, with this seed of 

suspicion sprouting in him, and wrote to a minister 

residing in that town where Williams had been jailed and 

converted; asked for light; and also asked if a person 

24 



370 



in the literary line (meaning me) might be allowed to 
print the letter and tell its history. He presently 
received this answer: 

Rev. . 

My Dear Friend : In regard to that "convict's letter " there 
can be no doubt as to its genuineness. "Williams," to whom it 
v/as written, lay in our jail and professed to have been converted, 
and Rev. Mr. , the chaplain, had great faith in the genuine- 
ness of the change — as much as one can have in any such case. 

The letter was sent to one of our ladies, who is a Sunday-school 
teacher — sent either by Williams himself, or the chaplain of the 
State's prison, probably. She has been greatly annoyed in having 
so much publicity, lest it might seem a breach of confidence, or be 
an injury to Williams. In regard to its publication, I can give no 
permission ; though, if the names and places were omitted, and 
especially if sent out of the country, I think you might take the 
responsibility and do it. 

It is a wonderful letter, which no Christian genius, much less 
one unsanctified, could ever have written. As showing the work 
of grace in a human heart, and in a very degraded and wicked one, 
it proves its own origin and reproves our weak faith in its power to 
cope with any form of wickedness. 

" Mr. Brown " of St. Louis, some one said, was a Hartford man. 
Do all whom you send from Hartford serve their Master as well ? 

P. S. — Williams is still in the State's prison, serving out a long 
sentence — of nine years, I think. He has been sick and threatened 
with consumption, but I have not enquired after him lately. This 
lady that I speak of corresponds with him, I presume, and will be 
quite sure to look after him. 

This letter arrived a few days after it was written — and 
up went Mr. Williams's stock again. Mr. Warner's low- 
down suspicion was laid in the cold, cold grave, where it 
apparently belonged. It was a suspicion based upon 
mere internal evidence, any way; and when you come to 
internal evidence, it's a big field and a game that two can 
play at: as witness this other internal evidence, dis- 



371 



covered by the writer of the note above quoted, that '' it 
is a wonderful letter — which no Christian genius, much 
less one unsanctiiied, could ever have written." 

I had permission now to print — provided I suppressed 
names and places and sent my narrative out of the 
country. So I chose an Australian magazine for vehicle, 
as being far enough out of the country, and set myself to 
work on my article. And the ministers set the pumps 
going again, with the letter to work the handles. 

But meantime Brother Page had been agitating. He 
had not visited the penitentiary, but he had sent a copy 
of the illustrious letter to the chaplain of that institution, 
and accompanied it with — apparently — enquiries. He got 
an answer, dated four days later than that other brother's 
reassuring epistle; and before my article was complete, it 
wandered into my hands. The original is before me 
now, and I here append it. It is pretty well loaded with 
internal evidence of the most solid description: 

State's Prison, Chaplain's Office, July ii, 1873. 
Dear Bro. Page : 

Herewitli please find the letter kindly loaned me. I am afraid 
its genuineness cannot be established. It purports to be addressed 
to some prisoner here. No such letter ever came to a prisoner 
here. All letters received are carefully read by ofifiicers of the 
prison before they go into the hands of the convicts, and any such 
letter could not be forgotten. Again, Charles Williams is not a 
Christian man, but a dissolute, cunning prodigal, whose father is a 
minister of the gospel. His name is an assumed one. I am glad 
to have made your acquaintance. I am preparing a lecture upon 
life seen through prison bars, and should like to deliver the same 
in your vicinity. 

And so ended that little drama. My poor article went 
into the fire; for whereas the materials for it were now 
more abundant and infinitely richer than they had previ- 
ously been, there were parties all around me who, 



L 



although longing for the publication before, were a unit 
for suppression at this stage and complexion of the game. 
They said, ''Wait — the wound is too fresh, yet. " All 
the copies of the famous letter, except mine, disappeared 
suddenly; and from that time onward, the aforetime 
same old drought set in, in the churches. As a rule, the 
town was on a spacious grin for a while, but there were 
places in it where the grin did not appear, and where it 
was dangerous to refer to the ex-convict's letter. 

A word of explanation: "Jack Hunt," the professed 
writer of the letter, was an imaginary person. The 
burglar Williams — Harvard graduate, son of a minister 
— wrote the letter himself, to himself: got it smuggled 
out of the prison; got it conveyed to persons who had 
supported and encouraged him in his conversion — where 
he knew two things would happen: the genuineness of 
the letter would not be doubted or enquired into; and 
the nub of it would be noticed, and would have valuable 
effect — the effect, indeed, of starting a movement to get 
Mr. Williams pardoned out of prison. 

That "nub" is so ingeniously, so casually, flung in, 
and immediately left there in the tail of the letter, 
undwelt upon, that an indifferent reader would never 
suspect that it was the heart and core of the epistle, if he 
even took note of it at all. This is the "nub": 

i hope the warm weather is doing your lungs good — / was 
afraid when you was bleeding yoit would die — give my respects, 
etc. 

That is all there is of it — siinply touch and %o — no 
dwelling upon it. Nevertheless it was intended for an 
eye that would be swift to see it; and it was meant to 
move a kind heart to try to effect the liberation of a poor 
reformed and purified fellow lying in the fell grip of 
consumption. 



373 



When I for the first time heard that letter read, nine 
years ago, I felt that it was the most remarkable one I 
had ever encountered. And it so warmed me toward Mr. 
Brown of St. Louis that I said that if ever I visited that 
city again, I would seek out that excellent man and kiss 
the hem of his garment, if it was a new one. Well, I 
visited St. Louis, but I did not hunt for Mr. Brown; for 
alas ! the investigations of long ago had proved that the 
benevolent Brown, like "Jack Hunt," was not a real per- 
son, but a sheer invention of that gifted rascal, Williams 
— burglar, Harvard graduate, son of a clergyman. 





CHAPTER LIII 



MY BOYHOOD S HOME 



We took passage in one of the fast boats of the St. 
Louis and St. Paul Packet Company, and started up the 
river. 

When I, as a boy, first saw the mouth of the Missouri 
River, it was twenty-two or twenty-three miles above 
St. Louis, according to the estimate of pilots; the wear 
and tear of the banks has moved it down eight miles 
since then ; and the pilots say that within five years the 
river will cut through and move the mouth down five 
miles more, which will bring it within ten miles of St. 
Louis. 

About nightfall we passed the large and flourishing 
town of Alton, 111., and before daylight next morning 
the town of Louisiana, Mo., a sleepy village in my 
day, but a brisk railway centre now; however, all the 
towns out there are railway centres now. I could not 
clearly recognize the place. This seemed odd to me, for 
when I retired from the rebel army in '6i I retired upon 
Louisiana in good order; at least in good enough order 
for a person who had not yet learned how to retreat 
according to the rules of war, and had to trust to native 
genius. It seemed to me that for a first attempt at a 
retreat it was not badly done. I had done no advancing 
in all that campaign that was at all equal to it. 

-There was a railway bridge across the river here well 
sprinkled with glowing lights, and a very beautiful sight 
it was. 

At seven in the morning we reached Hannibal, Mo., 



375 



where my boyhood was spent. I had had a glimpse 
of it fifteen years ago, and another glimpse six years 
earlier, but both were so brief that they hardly counted. 
The only notion of the town that remained in my mind 
was the memory of it as I had known it when I first 
quitted it twenty-nine years ago. That picture of it was 
still as clear and vivid to me as a photograph. I stepped 
ashore with the feeling of one who returns out of a dead- 
and-gone generation. I had a sort of realizing sense of 
what the Bastille prisoners must have felt when they used 
to come out and look upon Paris after years of captivity, 
and note how curiously the familiar and the strange were 
mixed together before them. I saw the new houses — 
saw them plainly enough — but they did not affect the 
older picture in my mind, for through their solid bricks 
and mortar I saw the vanished houses, which had formerly 
stood there, with perfect distinctness. 

It was Sunday morning, and every-body was abed yet. 
So I passed through the vacant streets, still seeing the 
town as it was, and not as it is, and recognizing and 
metaphorically shaking hands with a hundred familiar 
objects which no longer exist; and finally climbed Holi- 
day's Hill to get a comprehensive view. The whole town 
lay spread out below me then, and I could mark and fix 
every locality, every detail. Naturally, I was a good 
deal moved. I said, ''Many of the people I once knew 
in this tranquil refuge of my childhood are now in heaven; 
some, I trust, are in the other place." 

The things about me and before me made me feel like 
a boy again — convinced me that I was a boy again, and 
that I had simply been dreaming an unusually long dream; 
but my reflections spoiled all that; for they forced me to 
say, " I see fifty old houses down yonder, into each of 
which I could enter and find either a man or a woman 
who was a baby or unborn when I noticed those houses 



376 



last, or a grandmother who was a plump young bride at 
that time." 

From this vantage ground the extensive view up and 
down the river, and wide over the wooded expanses of 
Illinois, is very beautiful — one of the most beautiful on 
the Mississippi, I think; which is a hazardous remark to 
make, for the eight hundred miles of river between St, 
Louis and St. Paul afford an unbroken succession of 
lovely pictures. It may be that my affection for the one 
in question biasses my judgment in its favor; I cannot 
say as to that. No matter, it was satisfyingly beautiful 
to me, and it had this advantage over all the other 
friends whom I was about to greet again: it had suffered 
no change; it w^as as young and fresh and comely and 
gracious as ever it had been; whereas, the faces of the 
others would be old, and scarred with the campaigns of 
life, and marked with their griefs and defeats, and would 
give me no upliftings of spirit. 

An old gentleman, out on an early morning walk, came 
along, and we discussed the weather, and then drifted 
into other matters. I could not remember his face. He 
said he had been living here twenty-eight years. So he 
had come after my time, and I had never seen him 
before. I asked him various questions; first about a 
mate of mine in Sunday-school — what became of him ? 

"He graduated with honor in an Eastern college, wan- 
dered off into the world somewhere, succeeded at nothing, 
■passed out of knowledge and memory years ago, and is 
supposed to have gone to the dogs." 

** He was bright, and promised well when he was a 
boy." 

"Yes, but the thing that happened is what became of 
it all." 

I asked after another lad, altogether the brightest in 
our village school when I was a boy. 



377 



*' He, too, was graduated with honors, from an Eastern 
college; but life whipped him in every battle, straight 
along, and he died in one of the Territories, years ago, a 
defeated man." 

I asked after another of the bright boys. 

^' He is a success, always has been, always will be, I 
think." 

I enquired after a young fellow who came to the town 
to study for one of the professions when I was a boy. 

" He went at something else before he got through — 
went from medicine to law, or from law to medicine — 
then to some other new thing; went away for a year, 
came back with a young wife; fell to drinking, then to 
gambling behind the door; finally took his wife and two 
children to her father's, and went off to Mexico; went 
from bad to worse, and finally died there, without a cent 
to buy a shroud, and without a friend to attend the 
funeral." 

" Pity, for he was the best-natured and most cheery 
and hopeful young fellow that ever was." 

I named another boy. 

*'0h, he is all right. Lives here yet; has a wife and 
children, and is prospering." 

Same verdict concerning other boys. 

I named three school-girls. 

''The first two live here, are married and have chil- 
dren; the other is long ago dead — never married." 

I named, with emotion, one of my early sweethearts. 

''She is all right. Been married three times ; buried 
two husbands, divorced from the third, and I hear she is 
getting ready to marry an old fellow out in Colorado 
somewhere. She's got children scattered around here 
and there, most everywheres. " 

The answer to several other enquiries was brief and 
simple : 



378 



** Killed in the war." 

I named another boy. 

''Well, now, his case is curious ! There wasn't a 
human being in this town but knew that that boy was a 
perfect chucklehead; perfect dummy; just a stupid ass, 
as you may say. Every-body knew it, and every-body 
said it. Well, if that very boy isn't the first lawyer in 
the State of Missouri to-day, I'm a Democrat ! " 

'' Is that so ? " 

" It's actually so. I'm telling you the truth." 

*' How do you account for it ? " 

*' Account for it ? There ain't any accounting for it, 

except that if you send a d d fool to St. Louis, and 

you don't tell them he's a d d fool, they II never find 

it out. There's one thing sure — if I had a d d fool 

I should know what to do with him: ship him to St. 
Louis — it's the noblest market in the world for that kind 
of property. Well, when you come to look at it all 
around, and chew at it and think it over, dojtt it just 
bang any thing you ever heard of ?" 

''Well, yes; it does seem to. But don't you think 
maybe it was the Hannibal people who were mistaken 
about the boy, and not the St. Louis people ? " 

" Oh, nonsense ! The people here have known him 
from the very cradle — they knew him a hundred times 
better than the St. Louis idiots could have known him. 

No; if you have got any d d fools that you want to 

realize on, take my advice — send them to St. Louis." 

I mentioned a great number of people whom I had 
formerly known. Some were dead, some were gone 
away, some had prospered, some had come to naught; 
but as regarded a dozen or so of the lot, the answer was 
comforting : 

" Prosperous — live here yet — town littered with their 
children." 



379 



I asked about Miss 



" Died in the insane asylum three or four years ago — 
never was out of it from the time she went in; and was 
always suffering too; never got a shred of her mind 
back." 

If he spoke the truth, here was a heavy tragedy, indeed. 
Thirty-six years in a mad-house, that some young fools 
might have some fun ! I was a small boy at the time; 
and I saw those giddy young ladies come tiptoeing into 

the room where Miss sat reading at midnight by a 

lamp. The girl at the head of the file wore a shroud and 
a doughface; she crept behind the victim, touched her 
on the shoulder, and she looked up and screamed, and 
then fell into convulsions. She did not recover from the 
fright, but went mad. In these days it seems incredible 
that people believed in ghosts so short a time ago. But 
they did. 

After asking after such other folk as I could call to 
mind, I finally enquired about myself: 

" Oh, he succeeded well enough — another case of 

d d fool. If they'd sent him to St. Louis, he'd have 

succeeded sooner." 

It was with much satisfaction that I recognized the 
wisdom of having told this candid gentleman, in the be- 
ginning, that my name was Smith. 



CHAPTER LIV 
PAST AND PRESENT 

Being left to myself, up there, I went on picking out 
old houses in the distant town, and calling back their 
former inmates out of the mouldy past. Among them I 
presently recognized the house of the father of Lem 
Hackett (fictitious name). It carried me back more than 
a generation in a moment, and landed me in the midst of 
a time when the happenings of life were not the natural 
and logical results of great general laws, but of special 
orders, and were freighted with very precise and distinct 
purposes — partly punitive in intent, partly admonitory; 
and usually local in application. 

When I was a small boy, Lem Hackett was drowned — 
on a Sunday. He fell out of an empty flat-boat, where 
he was playing. Being loaded with sin, he went to the 
bottom like an anvil. He was the only boy in the village 
who slept that night. We others all lay awake, repent- 
ing. We had not needed the information, delivered from 
the pulpit that evening, that Lem's was a case of special 
judgment — we knew that, already. There was a fero- 
cious thunder-storm that night, and it raged continuously 
until near dawn. The winds blew, the windows rattled, 
the rain swept along the roof in pelting sheets, and at the 
briefest of intervals the inky blackness of the night van- 
ished, the houses over the way glared out white and 
blinding for a quivering instant, then the soli 1 darkness 
shut down again and a splitting peal of thunder followed 
which seemed to rend every thing in the neighborhood to 
shreds and splinters. I sat up in bed quaking and shud- 



38i 



dering, waiting for the destruction of the world, and 
expecting it. To me there was nothing strange or incon- 
gruous in Heaven's making such an uproar about Lem 
Hackett. Apparently it was the right and proper thing 
to do. Not a doubt entered my mind that all the angels 
were grouped together, discussing this boy's case and 
observing the awful bombardment of our beggarly little 
village with satisfaction and approval. There was one 
thing which disturbed me in the most serious way: that 
was the thought that this centring of the celestial 
interest on our village could not fail to attract the atten- 
tion of the observers to people among us who might 
otherwise have escaped notice for years. I felt that I 
was not only one of those people, but the very one most 
likely to be discovered. That discovery could have but 
one result : I should be in the fire with Lem before the 
chill of the river had been fairly warmed out of him. I 
knew that this would be only just and fair. I was in- 
creasing the chances against myself all the time, by feel- 
ing a secret bitterness against Lem for having attracted 
this fatal attention to me, but I could not help it — this 
sinful thought persisted in infesting my breast in spite of 
me. Every time the lightning glared I caught my breath, 
and judged I was gone. In my terror and misery, I 
meanly began to suggest other boys, and mention acts 
of theirs which were wickeder than mine, and peculiarly 
needed punishment — and I tried to pretend to myself 
that I was simply doing this in a casual way, and without 
intent to divert the heavenly attention to them for the 
purpose of getting rid of it myself. With deep sagacity 
I put these mentions into the form of sorrowing recollec- 
tions and left-handed sham-supplications that the sins of 
those boys might be allowed to pass unnoticed — "Pos- 
sibly they may repent." "It is true that Jim Smith broke 
a window and lied about it — but maybe he did not mean 



3S2 



any harm. And although Tom Holmes says more bad 
words than any other boy in the village, he probably 
intends to repent — though he has never said he would. 
And while it is a fact that John Jones did fish a little on 
Sunday, once, he didn't really catch any thing but only 
just one small useless mud-cat; and maybe that wouldn't 
have been so awful if he had thrown it back — as he says 
he did, but he didn't. Pity but they would repent of 
these dreadful things — and maybe they will yet." 

But while I was shamefully trying to draw attention 
to these poor chaps — who were doubtless directing the 
celestial attention to me at the same moment, though I 
never once suspected that — I had heedlessly left my 
candle burning. It was not a time to neglect even trifling 
precautions. There was no occasion to add any thing to 
the facilities for attracting notice to me — so I put the 
light out. 

It was a long night to me, and perhaps the most dis- 
tressful one I ever spent. I endured agonies of remorse 
for sins which I knew I had committed, and for others 
which I was not certain about, yet was sure that they 
had been set down against me in a book by an angel who 
was wiser than I and did not trust such important mat- 
ters to memory. It struck me, by and by, that I had 
been making a most foolish and calamitous mistake, in 
one respect; doubtless I had not only made my own 
destruction sure by directing attention to those other 
boys, but had already accomplished theirs ! Doubtless 
the lightning had stretched them all dead in their beds 
by this time ! The anguish and the fright which this 
thought gave me made my previous sufferings seem 
trifling by comparison. 

Things had become truly serious. I resolved to turn 
over a new leaf instantly; I also resolved to connect my- 
self with the church the next day, if I survived to see its 



383 



sun appear. I resolved to cease from sin in all its forms, 
and to lead a high and blameless life forever after. I 
would be punctual at church and Sunday-school; visit 
the sick; carry baskets of victuals to the poor (simply to 
fulfil the regulation conditions, although I knew we had 
none among us so poor but they would smash the basket 
over my head for my pains) ; I would instruct other boys 
in right ways, and take the resulting trouncings meekly; 
I would subsist entirely on tracts; I would invade the 
rum shop and warn the drunkard — and finally, if I escaped 
the fate of those who early become too good to live, I 
would go for a missionary. 

The storm subsided toward daybreak, and I dozed 
gradually to sleep with a sense of obligation to Lem 
Hackett for going to eternal suffering in that abrupt way, 
and thus preventing a far more dreadful disaster — my 
own loss. 

But when I rose refreshed, by and by, and found that 
those other boys were still alive, I had a dim sense that 
perhaps the whole thing was a false alarm ; that the 
entire turmoil had been on Lem's account and nobody's 
else. The world looked so bright and safe that there 
did not seem to be any real occasion to turn over a new 
leaf. I was a little subdued during that day, and per- 
haps the next; after that, my purpose of reforming 
slowly dropped out of my mind, and I had a peaceful, 
comfortable time again, until the next storm. 

That storm came about three weeks later; and it was 
the most unaccountable one, to me, that I had ever ex- 
perienced; for on the afternoon of that day, "Dutchy" 
was drowned. Dutchy belonged to our Sunday-school. 
He was a German lad who did not know enough to come 
in out of the rain; but he was exasperatingly good, and 
had a prodigious memory. One Sunday he made himself 
the envy of all the youth and the talk of all the admiring 



L 



384 



village, by reciting three thousand verses of Scripture 
without missing a word: then he went off the very next 
day and got drowned. 

Circumstances gave to his death a peculiar impressive- 
ness. We were all bathing in a muddy creek which had 
a deep hole in it, and in this hole the coopers had sunk a 
pile of green hickory hoop-poles to soak, some twelve 
feet under water. We were diving and '' seeing who 
could stay under longest." We managed to remain down 
by holding on to the hoop-poles. Dutchy made such a 
poor success of it that he was hailed with laughter and 
derision every time his head appeared above water. At 
last he seemed hurt with the taunts, and begged us to 
stand still on the bank and be fair vnth him and give him 
an honest count — " be friendly and kind just this once, 
and not miscount for the sake of having the fun of laugh- 
ing at him." Treacherous winks were exchanged, and 
all said, "All right, Dutchy — go ahead, we'll play fair." 

Dutchy plunged in, but the boys, instead of beginning 
to count, followed the lead of one of their number and 
scampered to a range of blackberry bushes close by and 
hid behind it. They imagined Dutchy's humiliation, 
when he should rise after a superhuman effort and find 
the place silent and vacant, nobody there to applaud. 
They were "so full of laugh " with the idea that they 
were continually exploding into muffled cackles. Time 
swept on, and presently one who was peeping through 
the briers said, with surprise : 

"Why, he hasn't come up yet! " 

The laughing stopped. 

"Boys, it's a splendid dive," said one. 

"Never mind that," said another, "the joke on him 
is all the better for it." 

There was a remark or two more, and then a pause. 
Talking ceased, and all began to peer through the vines. 



385 



Before long, the boys' faces began to look uneasy, then 
anxious, then terrified. Still there was no movement of 
the placid water. Hearts began to beat fast, and faces 
to turn pale. We all glided out silently, and stood on 
the bank, our horrified eyes wandering back and forth 
from each other's countenances to the water. 

'' Somebody must go down and see! " 

Yes, that was plain; but nobody wanted that grisly 
task. 

'^ Draw straws! " 

So we did — with hands which shook so that we hardly 
knew what we were about. The lot fell to me, and I 
went down. The water was so muddy I could not see 
any thing, but I felt around among the hoop-poles, and 
presently grasped a limp wrist which gave me no 
response — and if it had I should not have known it, I let 
it go with such a frightened suddenness. 

The boy had been caught among the hoop-poles and 
entangled there, helplessly. I fled to the surface and 
told the awful news. Some of us knew that if the boy 
were dragged out at once he might possibly be resusci- 
tated, but we never thought of that. We did not think 
of any thing; we did not know what to do, so we did 
nothing — except that the smaller lads cried piteously, 
and we all struggled frantically into our clothes, putting 
on any body's that came handy, and getting them wrong- 
side-out and upside-down, as a rule. Then we scurried 
away and gave the alarm, but none of us went back to 
see the end of the tragedy. We had a more important 
thing to attend to: we all flew home, and lost not a 
moment in getting ready to lead a better life. 

The night presently closed down. Then came on that 
tremendous and utterly unaccountable storm. I was 
perfectly dazed; I could not understand it. It seemed 
to me that there must be some mistake. The elements 



386 



were turned loose, and they rattled and banged and 
blazed away in the most blind and frantic manner. All 
heart and hope went out of me, and the dismal thought 
kept floating through my brain, "If a boy who knows 
three thousand verses by heart is not satisfactory, what 
chance is there for any body else ?" 

Of course I never questioned for a moment that the 
storm was on Dutchy's account, or that he or any other 
inconsequential animal was worthy of such a majestic 
demonstration from on high; the lesson of it was the 
only thing that troubled me; for it convinced me that if 
Dutchy, with all his perfections, was not a delight, it 
would be vain for me to turn over a new leaf, for I must 
infallibly fall hopelessly short of that boy, no matter 
how hard I might try. Nevertheless I did turn it over 
— a highly educated fear compelled me to do that — but 
succeeding days of cheerfulness and sunshine came 
bothering around, and within a month I had so drifted 
backward that again I was as lost and comfortable as 
ever. 

Breakfast time approached while I mused these mus- 
ings and called these ancient happenings back to mind; 
so I got me back into the present and went down the 
hill. 

On my way through town to the hotel, I saw the house 
which was my home when I was a boy. At present 
rates, the people who now occupy it are of no more 
value than I am; but in my time they would have been 
worth not less than five hundred dollars apiece. They 
are colored folk. 

After breakfast I went out alone again, intending to 
hunt up some of the Sunday-schools and see how this 
generation of pupils might compare with their progenitors 
who had sat with me in those places and had probably 
taken me as a model — though I do not remember as to 



387 



that now. By the public square there had been in my 
day a shabby little brick church called the " Old Ship of 
Zion," which I had attended as a Sunday-school scholar; 
and I found the locality easily enough, but not the old 
church; it was gone, and a trig and rather hilarious new 
edifice was in its place. The pupils were better dressed 
and better looking than were those of my time; conse- 
quently they did not resemble their ancestors; and con- 
sequently there was nothing familiar to me in their faces. 
Still, I contemplated them with a deep interest and a 
yearning wistfulness, and if I had been a girl I would 
have cried; for they were the offspring, and represented, 
and occupied the places, of boys and girls some of whom 
I had loved to love, and some of whom I had loved to 
hate, but all of whom were dear to me for the one reason 
or the other, so many years gone by — and. Lord, w^here 
be they now ! 

I was mightily stirred, and would have been grateful 
to be allowed to remain unmolested and look my fill; 
but a bald-summited superintendent who had been a tow- 
headed Sunday-school mate of mine on that spot in the 
early ages, recognized me, and I talked a flutter of wild 
nonsense to those children to hide the thoughts which 
were in me, and which could not have been spoken with- 
out a betrayal of feeling that would have been recog- 
nized as out of character with me. 

Making speeches without preparation is no gift of 
mine; and I was resolved to shirk any new opportunity, 
but in the next and larger Sunday-school I found myself 
in the rear of the assemblage; so I was very willing to 
go on the platform a moment for the sake of getting a 
good look at the scholars. On the spur of the moment 
I could not recall any of the old idiotic talks which 
visitors used to insult me with when I was a pupil there; 
and I was sorry for this, since it would have given me 



38S 



time and excuse to dawdle there and take a long and 
satisfying look at what I feel at liberty to say was an 
array of fresh young comeliness not matchable in 
another Sunday-school of the same size. As I talked 
merely to get a chance to inspect, and as I strung out 
the random rubbish solely to prolong the inspection, I 
judged it but decent to confess these low motives, and I 
did so. 

If the Model Boy was in either of these Sunday- 
schools, I did not see him. The Model Boy of my time 
— we never had but the one — was perfect : perfect in 
manners, perfect in dress, perfect in conduct, perfect in 
filial piety, perfect in exterior godliness; but at bottom 
he was a prig; and as for the contents of his skull, they 
could have changed place with the contents of a pie, and 
nobody would have been the worse off for it but the pie. 
This fellow's reproachlessness was a standing reproach 
to every lad in the village. He was the admiration of all 
the mothers, and the detestation of all their sons. I was 
told what became of him, but as it was a disappointment 
to me, I will not enter into details. He succeeded in 
life. 



CHAPTER LV 
A VENDETTA AND OTHER THINGS 

During my three days' stay in the town, I woke up 
every morning with the impression that I w^as a boy — for 
in my dreams the faces were all young again, and looked 
as they had looked in the old times; but I went to bed a 
hundred years old, every night — for meantime I had been 
seeing those faces as they are now. 

Of course I suffered some surprises, along at first, 
before I had become adjusted to the changed state of 
things. I met young ladies who did not seem to have 
changed at all; but they turned out to be the daughters 
of the young ladies I had in mind — sometimes their grand- 
daughters. When you are told that a stranger of fifty is 
a grandmother, there is nothing surprising about it; but 
if, on the contrary, she is a person whom you knew as 
a little girl, it seems impossible. You say to yourself, 
'' How can a little girl be a grandmother ? " It takes 
some little time to accept and realize the fact that while 
you have been growing old, your friends have not been 
standing still, in that matter. 

I noticed that the greatest changes observable were 
with the women, not the men. I saw men whom thirty 
years had changed but slightly; but their wives had 
grown old. These were good women; it is very wearing 
to be good. 

There was a saddler whom I wished to see; but he 
was gone. Dead, these many years, they said. Once 
or twice a day, the saddler used to go tearing down the 
street, putting on his coat as he went; and then every- 



390 



body knew a steamboat was coming. Every-body knew, 
also, that John Stavely was not expecting any body by 
the boat — or any freight, either; and Stavely must have 
known that every-body knew this, still it made no differ- 
ence to him; he liked to seem to himself to be expecting 
a hundred thousand tons of saddles by this boat, and so 
he went on all his life, enjoying being faithfully on hand 
to receive and receipt for those saddles, in case by any 
miracle they should come. A malicious Quincy paper 
used always to refer to this town, in derision, as '^ Stavely's 
Landing." Stavely was one of my earliest admirations; 
I envied him his rush of imaginary business, and the dis- 
play he was able to make of it before strangers, as he 
went flying down the street, struggling with his fluttering 
coat. 

But there was a carpenter who was my chiefest hero. 
He was a mighty liar, but I did not know that ; I 
believed every thing he said. He was a romantic, senti- 
mental, melodramatic fraud, and his bearing impressed 
me with awe. I vividly remember the first time he took 
me into his confidence. He was planing a board, and 
every now and then he would pause and heave a deep 
sigh and occasionally mutter broken sentences, — con- 
fused and not intelligible, — but out of their midst an ejac- 
ulation sometimes escaped which made me shiver and 
did me good: one was, '^ O God, it is liis blood ! " I sat 
on the tool-chest and humbly and shudderingly admired 
him; for I judged he was full of crime. At last he said 
in a low voice : 

" My little friend, can you keep a secret ?" 

I eagerly said I could. 

''A dark and dreadful one? " 

I satisfied him on that point. 

"Then I will tell you some passages in my history ; 
for oh, I m!/s^ relieve my burdened soul, or I shall die ! " 



391 



He cautioned me once more to be ''as silent as the 
grave"; then he told me he was a "red-handed 
murderer." He put down his plane, held his hands out 
before him, contemplated them sadly, and said: 

"Look — with these hands I have taken the lives of 
thirty human beings ! " 

The effect which this had upon me was an inspiration 
to him, and he turned himself loose upon his subject 
with interest and energy. He left generalizing, and 
went into details — began with his first murder; described 
it, told what measures he had taken to avert suspicion; 
then passed to his second homicide, his third, his fourth, 
and so on. He had always done his murders with a 
bowie-knife, and he made all my hairs rise by suddenly 
snatching it out and showing it to me. 

At the end of this first seance I went home with six of 
his fearful secrets among my freightage, and found them 
a great help to my dreams, which had been sluggish for 
a while back. I sought him again and again, on my 
Saturda}^ holidays; in fact I spent the summer with 
him — all of it which was valuable to me. His fascina- 
tions never diminished, for he threw something fresh 
and stirring, in the way of horror, into each successive 
murder. He always gave names, dates, places — every 
thing. This by and by enabled me to note two things: 
that he had killed his victims in every quarter of the 
globe, and that these victims were always named Lynch. 
The destruction of the Lynches went serenely on, vSatur- 
day after Saturday, until the original thirty had multi- 
plied to sixty, — and more to be heard from yet; then 
my curiosity got the better of my timidity, and I asked 
how it happened that these justly punished persons all 
bore the same name. 

My hero said he had never divulged that dark secret 
to any living being; but felt that he could trust me, and 



k 



392 



therefore he would lay bare before me the story of his 
sad and blighted life. He had loved one "too fair for 
earth," and she had reciprocated "with all the sv^^eet 
affection of her pure and noble nature." But he had a 
rival, a "base hireling" named Archibald Lynch, who 
said the girl should be his, or he would "dye his hands 
in her heart's best blood." The carpenter, "innocent 
and happy in love's young dream," gave no weight to the 
threat, but led his "golden-haired darling to the altar," 
and there the two were made one; there, also, just as 
the minister's hands were stretched in blessing over their 
heads, the fell deed was done — with a knife — and the 
bride fell a corpse at her husband's feet. And what did 
the husband do ? He plucked forth that knife, and, 
kneeling by the body of his lost one, swore to "conse- 
crate his life to the extermination of all the human scum 
that bear the hated name of Lynch." 

That w^as it. He had been hunting down the Lynches 
and slaughtering them, from that day to this — twenty 
years. He had always used that same consecrated knife; 
with it he had m.urdered his long array of Lynches, and 
with it he had left upon the forehead of each victim a 
peculiar mark — a cross, deeply incised. Said he: 

"The cross of the Mysterious Avenger is known in 
Europe, in America, in China, in Siam, in the Tropics, in 
the Polar Seas, in the deserts of Asia, in all the earth. 
Wherever in the uttermost parts of the globe a Lynch 
has penetrated, there has the Mysterious Cross been 
seen, and those who have seen it have shuddered and 
said, 'It is his mark; he has been here!' You have 
heard of the Mysterious Avenger — look upon him, for 
before you stands no less a person! But beware — 
breathe not a word to any soul. Be silent, and wait. 
Some morning this town will flock aghast to view a gory 
corpse; on its brow will be seen the awful sign, and men 



393 



will tremble and whisper, ' He has been here — it is the 
Mysterious iVvenger's mark!' You will come here, but 
I shall have vanished; you will see me no more." 

This ass had been reading the " Jibbenainosay," no 
doubt, and had had his poor romantic head turned by it; 
but as I had not yet seen the book then, I took his in- 
ventions for truth, and did not suspect that he was a 
plagiarist. 

However, we had a Lynch living in the town; and the 
more I reflected upon his impending doom, the more I 
could not sleep. It seemed my plain duty to save him, and 
a still plainer and more important duty to get some sleep 
for myself, so at last I ventured to go to Mr. Lynch and 
tell him what was about to happen to him— under strict 
secrecy. I advised him to *'fly," and certainly expected 
him to do it. But he laughed at me; and he did not 
stop there; he led me down to the carpenter's shop, gave 
the carpenter a jeering and scornful lecture upon his silly 
pretensions, slapped his face, made him get down on his 
knees and beg — then went off and left me to contem- 
plate the cheap and pitiful ruin of what, in my eyes, had 
so lately been a majestic and incomparable hero. The 
carpenter blustered, flourished his knife, and doomed 
this Lynch in his usual volcanic style, the size of his 
fateful words undiminished; but it was all wasted upon 
me; he was a hero to me no longer, but only a poor, 
foolish, exposed humbug. I was ashamed of him, and 
ashamed of myself; I took no further interest in him, 
and never went to his shop any more. He was a heavy 
loss to me, for he was the greatest hero I had ever 
known. The fellow must have had some talent; for 
some of his imaginary murders were so vividly and 
dramatically described that I remember all their details 
yet. 

The people of Hannibal are not more changed than is 



394 



the town. It is no longer a village; it is a city, with a 
Mayor, and a council, and water-works, and probably a 
debt. It has fifteen thousand people, is a thriving and 
energetic place, and is paved like the rest of the West 
and South — where a well-paved street and a good sidewalk 
are things so seldom seen that one doubts them when 
he does see them. The customary half-dozen railways 
centre in Hannibal now, and there is a new depot, which 
cost a hundred thousand dollars. In my time the town 
had no specialty, and no commercial grandeur; the daily 
packet usually landed a passenger and bought a catfish, 
and took away another passenger and a hatful of freight; 
but now a huge commerce in lumber has grown up, and a 
large miscellaneous commerce is one of the results. A 
deal of money changes hands there now. 

Bear Creek — so called, perhaps, because it was always so 
particularly bare of bears — is hidden out of sight now, 
under islands and continents of piled lumber, and nobody 
but an expert can find it. I used to get drowned in it 
every summer regularly, and be drained out, and inflated 
and set going again by some chance enemy; but not 
enough of it is unoccupied now to drown a person in. 
It was a famous breeder of chills and fever in its day. I 
remember one summer when every-body in town had this 
disease at once. Many chimneys were shaken down, 
and all the houses were so racked that the town had to be 
rebuilt. The chasm or gorge between Lover's Leap and 
the hill west of it is supposed by scientists to have been 
caused by glacial action. This is a mistake. 

There is an interesting cave a mile or two below 
Hannibal, among the bluffs. I would have liked to re- 
visit it, but had not time. In my time the person who 
then owned it turned it into a mausoleum for his daugh- 
ter, aged fourteen. The body of this poor child was put 
into a copper cylinder filled with alcohol, and this was 



395 



suspended in one of the dismal avenues of the cave. 
The top of the cylinder was removable; and it was said 
to be a common thing for the baser order of tourists to 
drag the dead face into view and examine it and comment 
upon it 



CHAPTER LVi. 
A QUESTION OF LAW 

The slaughter-house is gone from the mouth of Bear 
Creek and so is the small jail (or ''calaboose") which 
once stood in its neighborhood. A citizen asked, " Do 
you remember when Jimmy Finn, the town drunkard, 
was burned to death in the calaboose ?" 

Observe, now, how history becomes defiled, through 
lapse of time and the help of the bad memories of men. 
Jimmy Finn was not burned in the calaboose, but died a 
natural death in a tan vat, of a combination of delirium 
tremens and spontaneous combustion. When I say 
natural death, I mean it was a natural death for Jimmyj 
Finn to die. The calaboose victim was not a citizen; h( 
was a poor stranger, a harmless, whiskey-sodden tramp. 
I know more about his case than any body else; I knew 
too much of it, in that by-gone day, to relish speaking of 
it. That tramp was wandering about the streets one 
chilly evening, with a pipe in his mouth, and begging for 
a match; he got neither matches nor courtesy; on the 
contrary, a troop of bad little boys followed him around 
and amused themselves with nagging and annoying him.j 
I assisted; but at last, some appeal which the wayfarei 
made for forbearance, accompanying it with a pathetic 
reference to his forlorn and friendless condition, touched 
such sense of shame and remnant of right feeling as 
were left in me, and I went away and got him some 
matches, and then hied me home and to bed, heavily 
weighted as to conscience, and unbuoyant in spirit. An 
hour or two afterward, the man was arrested and locked 



397 



up in the calaboose by the marshal — large name for a 
constable, but that was his title. At two in the morning, 
the church-bells rang for fire, and every-body turned out, 
of course — I with the rest. The tramp had used his 
matches disastrously: he had set his straw bed on fire, 
and the oaken sheathing of the room had caught. When 
I reached the ground, two hundred men, women, and 
children stood massed together, transfixed with horror, 
and staring at the grated windows of the jail. Behind 
the iron bars, and tugging frantically at them, and 
screaming for help, stood the tramp; he seemed like a 
black object set against a sun, so white and intense was 
the light at his back. That marshal could not be found, 
and he had the only key. A battering-ram was quickly 
improvised, and the thunder of its blows upon the door 
had so encouraging a sound that the spectators broke 
into wild cheering, and believed the merciful battle won. 
But it was not so. The timbers were too strong; they 
did not yield. It was said that the man's death-grip still 
held fast to the bars after he was dead; and that in this 
position the fires wrapped him about and consumed him. 
As to this, I do not know. What was seen, after I 
recognized the face that was pleading through the bars, 
was seen by others, not by me. 

I saw that face, so situated, every night for a long time 
afterward; and I believed myself as guilty of the man's 
death as if I had given him the matches purposely that 
he might burn himself up with them. I had not a doubt 
that I should be hanged if my connection with this trag- 
edy were found out. The happenings and the impressions 
of that time are burned into my memory, and the study of 
them entertains me as much now as they themselves dis- 
tressed me then. If any body spoke of that grisly matter, 
I was all ears in a moment, and alert to hear what might 
be said, for I was always dreading and expecting to find 



398 



out that I was suspected; and so fine and so delicate was 
the perception of my guilty conscience that it often de- 
tected suspicion in the most purposeless remarks, and in 
looks, gestures, glances of the eye, which had no signifi- 
cance, but which sent me shivering away in a panic of 
fright, just the same. And how sick it made me when 
somebody dropped, howsoever carelessly and barren of 
intent, the remark that "murder will out !" For a boy 
of ten years, I was carrying a pretty weighty cargo. 

All this time I was blessedly forgetting one thing — the 
fact that I was ari inveterate talker in my sleep. But one 
night I awoke and found my bed-mate — my younger 
brother — sitting up in bed and contemplating me by the 
light of the moon. I said: 

''What is the matter ?" 

''You talk so much I can't sleep." 

I came to a sitting posture in an instant, with my kid- 
neys in my throat and my hair on end. 

"What did I say? Quick — out with it — what did 
I say ? " 

"Nothing much." 

" It's a lie — you know every thing ! " 

" Every thing about what ? " 

"You know well enough. About that," 

"About what 7 I don't know what you are talking 
about. I think you are sick or crazy or something. But 
any way, you're awake, and I'll get to sleep while I've 
got a chance." 

He fell asleep and I lay there in a cold sweat, turning 
this new terror over in the whirling chaos which did duty 
as my mind. The burden of my thought was. How much 
did I divulge ? How much does he know ? What a dis- 
tress is this uncertainty ! But by and by I evolved an 
idea — I would wake my brother and probe him with a 
supposititious case. I shook him up, and said: 



399 



"Suppose a man should come to you drunk * 

"This is foolish — I never get drunk." 

"I don't mean you, idiot — 1 mean the man. Suppose 
a man should come to you drunk, and borrow a knife, or 
a tomahawk, or a pistol, and you forgot to tell him it was 
loaded, and " 

" How could you load a tomahawk ?" 

''I don't mean the tomahawk, and I didn't say the 
tomahawk ; I said the pistol. Now, don't you keep break- 
ing in that way, because this is serious. There's been a 
man killed." 

"What ! In this town? 

"Yes, in this town." 

"Well, go on — I won't say a single word." 

"Well, then, suppose you forgot to tell him to be care- 
ful with it, because it was loaded, and he went off and 
shot himself with that pistol — fooling with it, you know, 
and probably doing it by accident, being drunk. Well, 
would it be murder ? " 

" No — suicide." 

" No, no ! I don't mean his act, I mean yours. Would 
you be a murderer for letting him. have that pistol ? " 

After deep thought came this answer: 

"Well, I should think I was guilty of something — may- 
be murder — yes, probably murder, but I don't quite 
know," 

This made me very uncomfortable. However, it was 
not a decisive verdict. I should have to set out the real 
case — there seemed to be no other way. But I would do 
it cautiously, and keep a watch out for suspicious effects. 
I said; 

"I was supposing a case, but I am coming to the real 
one now. Do you know how the man came to be burned 
up in the calaboose ?" 

"No." 



400 



*' Haven't you the least idea?" 

''Not the least." 

''Wish you may die in your tracks if you have ?'' 

"Yes, wish I may die in my tracks." 

"Well, the way of it was this. The man wanted some 
matches to light his pipe. A boy got him some. The 
man set fire to the calaboose with those very matches, 
and burnt himself up." 

"Is that so?" 

"Yes, it is. Now, is that boy a murderer, do you 
think?" 

"Let me see. The man was drunk ? " 

"Yes, he was drunk." 

"Very drunk ? " 

"Yes." 

" And the boy knew it ? " 

"Yes, he knew it." 

There was a long pause. Then came this heavy ver- 
dict: 

"If the man was drunk, and the boy knew it, the boy 
murdered that man. This is certain." 

Faint, sickening sensations crept along all the fibres of 
my body, and I seemed to know how a person feels who 
hears his death sentence pronounced from the bench. I 
waited to hear what my brother would say next. I be- 
lieved I knew what it would be, and I was right. He 
said: 

"I know the boy." 

I had nothing to say; so I said nothing. I simply 
shuddered. Then he added: 

"Yes, before you got half through telling about the 
thing, I knew perfectly well who the boy was; it vras 
Ben Coontz ! " 

I came out of my collapse as one who rises from the 
dead. I said, with admiration: 



40I 



ii Why, how in the world did you ever guess it ?" 

'' You told me in your sleep." 

I said to myself, "How splendid that isJ This is a 
habit which must be cultivated." 

My brother rattled innocently on: 

"When you w-ere talking- in your sleep, you kept 
mumbling something about 'matches,' which I couldn't 
make any thing out of; but just now, when you began to 
tell me about the man and the calaboose and the matches, 
I remembered that in your sleep you mentioned Ben 
Coontz two or three times; so I put this and that 
together, you see, and right away I knew it was Ben that 
burnt that man up." 

I praised his sagacity effusively. Presently he asked: 

" Are you going to give him up to the law? " 

" No," I said; " I believe that this will be a lesson to 
him. I shall keep an eye on him, of course, for that is 
but right; but if he stops where he is and reforms, it 
shall never be said that I betrayed him." 

" How good you are ! " 

"Well, I try to be. It is all a person can do in a 
world like this." 

And now, my burden being shifted to other shoulders, 
my terrors soon faded away. 

The day before we left Hannibal, a curious thing fell 
under my notice — the surprising spread which longi- 
tudinal time undergoes there. I learned it from one of 
the most unostentatious of men — the colored coachman 
of a friend of mine, who lives three miles from town. 
He was to call for me at the Park Hotel at 7.30 p. m., and 
drive me out. But he missed it considerably — did not 
arrive till ten. He excused himself by saying: 

" De time is mos' an hour en a half slower in de 
country en what it is in de town; you'll be in plenty 
time, boss. Sometimes we shoves out early for church, 
26 



402 



Sunday, en fetches up dah right plum in de middle er de 
sermon. Diffunce in de time. A body can't make no 
calculations 'bout it.' 

1 had lost two hours and a half; but I had learned a 
fac'c worth fouio 



I 



1 



CHAPTER LVII 
AN ARCHANGEL 

From St. Louis northward there are all the enlivening 
signs of the presence of active, energetic, intelligent, 
prosperous, practical nineteenth-century populations. 
The people don't dream; they work. The happy result 
is manifest all around in the substantial outside aspect of 
things, and the suggestions of wholesome life and com- 
fort that everywhere appear. 

Quincy is a notable example — a brisk, handsome, well- 
ordered city; and now, as formerly, interested in art, 
letters, and other high things. 

But Marion City is an exception. Marion City has gone 
backward in a most unaccountable way. This metropolis 
promised so well that the projectors tacked " city" to its 
name in the very beginning, with full confidence; but it 
was bad prophecy. When I first saw Marion City, thirty- 
five years ago, it contained one street, and nearly or quite 
six houses. It contains but one house now, and this one, 
in a state of ruin, is getting ready to follow the former 
five into the river. 

Doubtless Marion City was too near to Quincy. It 
had 'another disadvantage : it was situated in a flat mud 
bottom, below high-water mark, whereas Quincy stands 
high up on the slope of a hill. 

In the beginning Quincy had the aspect and ways of a 
model New England town: and these she has yet: broad, 
clean streets, trim, neat dwellings and lawns, fine man- 
sions, stately blocks of commercial buildings. And there 
are ample fair-grounds, a well-kept park, and many 



404 



attractive drives; library, reading-rooms, a couple of col- 
leges, some handsome and costly churches, and a grand 
court-house, with grounds which occupy a square. The 
population of the city is thirty thousand. There are some 
large factories here, and manufacturing, of many sorts, 
is done on a great scale. 

La Grange and Canton are growing towns, but I missed 
Alexandria; was told it was under water, but would come 
up to blow in the summer. 

Keokuk was easily recognizable. I lived there in 1857, 
— an extraordinary 3^ear there in real-estate matters. 
The "boom" was something wonderful. Every-body 
bought, every-body sold — except widows and preachers; 
they always hold on; and when the tide ebbs, they get 
left. Any thing in the semblance of a town lot, no matter 
how situated, was salable, and at a figure which would 
still have been high if the ground had been sodded with 
greenbacks. 

The town has a population of fifteen thousand now, and 
is progressing with a healthy growth. It was night, and 
we could not see details, for which we were sorr}'', for 
Keokuk has the reputation of being a beautiful city. It 
was a pleasant one to live in long ago, and doubtless has 
advanced, not retrograded, in that respect. 

A mighty work, which was in progress there in my day, 
is finished now. This is the canal over the Rapids. It 
is eight miles long, three hundred feet wide, and is in no 
place less than six feet deep. Its masonry is of the 
majestic kind which the War Department usually deals 
in, and will endure like a Roman aqueduct. The work 
cost four or five millions. 

After an hour or two spent with former friends, we 
started up the river again. Keokuk, a long time ago, 
was an occasional loafing-place of that erratic genius, 
Henry Clay Dean. I believe I never saw him but once; 



I 



405 



but he was much talked of when I lived there. This is 
what was said of him: 

He began life poor and without education. But he 
educated himself — on the curb-stones of Keokuk. He 
would sit down on a curb-stone with his book, careless or 
unconscious of the clatter of commerce and the tramp of 
the passing crowds, and bury himself in his studies by 
the hour, never changing his position except to draw in 
his knees now and then to let a dray pass unobstructed; 
and when his book was finished, its contents, however 
abstruse, had been burned into his memory, and were his 
permanent possession. In this way he acquired a vast 
hoard of all sorts of learning, and had it pigeon-holed in 
his head where he could put his intellectual hand on it 
whenever it was wanted. 

His clothes differed in no respect from a '' wharf- rat's," 
except that they were raggeder, more ill-assorted and 
inharmonious (and therefore more extravagantly pictur- 
esque), and several layers dirtier. Nobody could infer 
the master-mind in the top of that edifice from the 
edifice itself. 

He was an orator — by nature in the first place, and 
later by the training of experience and practice. When 
he was out on a canvass, his name was a loadstone which 
drew the farmers to his stump from fifty miles around. 
His theme was always politics. He used no notes, for a 
volcano does not need notes. In 1862 a son of Keokuk's 
late distinguished citizen, Mr. Claggett, gave me this 
incident concerning Dean: 

The war feeling was running high in Keokuk (in '61), 
and a great mass meeting was to be held on a certain day 
in the new Athenaeum. A distinguished stranger was 
to address the house. After the building had been 
packed to its utmost capacity with sweltering folk of 
both sexes, the stage still remained vacant — the distin- 



4o6 



guished stranger had failed to connect. The crowd 
grew impatient, and by and by indignant and rebellious. 
About this time a distressed manager discovered Dean 
on a curb-stone, explained the dilemma to him, took his 
book away from him, rushed him into the building the 
back way, and told him to make for the stage and save 
his country. 

Presently a sudden silence fell upon the grumbling 
audience, and every-body's eyes sought a single point — 
the wide, empty, carpetless stage. A figure appeared 
there whose aspect was familiar to hardly a dozen persons 
present. It was the scarecrow Dean — in foxy shoes, 
down at the heels; socks of odd colors, also "down"; 
damaged trousers, relics of antiquity and a world too 
short, exposing some inches of naked ankle; an un- 
buttoned vest, also too short, and exposing a zone of 
soiled and wrinkled linen between it and the waistband; 
shirt bosom open; long black handkerchief, wound round 
and round the neck like a bandage; bobtailed blue 
coat, reaching down to the small of the back, with 
sleeves which left four inches of forearm unprotected; 
small, stiff-brimmed soldier-cap hung on a corner of the 
bump of — whichever bump it was. This figure moved 
gravely out upon the stage and, with sedate and measured 
step, down to the front, where it paused, and dreamily 
inspected the house, saying no word. The silence of 
surprise held its own for a moment, then was broken 
by a just audible ripple of merriment which swept the 
sea of faces like the wash of a wave. The figure re- 
mained as before, thoughtfully inspecting. Another 
wave started — laughter, this time. It was followed 
by another, then a third — this last one boisterous. 

And now the stranger stepped back one pace, took 
off his soldier-cap, tossed it into the wing, and began 
to speak with deliberation, nobody listening, every-body 



407 



laughing and whispering. The speaker talked on un- 
embarrassed, and presently delivered a shot which went 
home, and silence and attention resulted. He followed 
it quick and fast with other telling things; warmed to his 
work and began to pour his words out, instead of drip- 
ping them; grew hotter and hotter, and fell to discharg- 
ing lightnings and thunder — and now the house began to 
break into applause, to which the speaker gave no heed, 
but went hammering straight on; unwound his black 
bandage and cast it away, still thundering; presently dis- 
carded the bob-tailed coat and flung it aside, firing up 
higher and higher all the time; finally flung the vest after 
the coat; and then for an untimed period stood there, 
like another Vesuvius, spouting smoke and flame, lava 
and ashes, raining pumice-stone and cinders, shaking the 
moral earth with intellectual crash upon crash, explosion 
upon explosion, while the mad multitude stood upon their 
feet in a solid body, answering back with a ceaseless 
hurricane of cheers, through a thrashing snow-storm of 
waving handkerchiefs. 

"When Dean came," said Claggett, "the people 
thought he was an escaped lunatic; but when he went, 
they thought he was an escaped archangel." 

Burlington, home of the sparkling Burdette, is another 
hill city; and also a beautiful one — unquestionably so; a 
fine and flourishing city, with a population of twenty-five 
thousand, and belted with busy factories of nearly every 
imaginable description. It was a very sober city, too — 
for the moment — for a most sobering bill was pending; a 
bill to forbid the manufacture, exportation, importation, 
purchase, sale, borrowing, lending, stealing, drinking, 
smelling, or possession, by conquest, inheritance, intent, 
accident, or otherwise, in the State of Iowa, of each and 
every deleterious beverage known to the human race, 
except water. This measure was approved by all the 



4o8 



rational people in the State; but not b}^ the bench of 
judges. 

Burlington has the progressive modern city's full 
equipment of devices for right and intelligent govern- 
ment, including a paid fire department; a thing which 
the great city of New Orleans is without, but still employs 
that relic of antiquity, the independent system. 

In Burlington, as in all these Upper-River towns, one 
breathes a go-ahead atmosphere which tastes good in the 
nostrils. An opera-house has lately been built there 
which is in strong contrast with the shabby dens which 
usually do duty as theatres in cities of Burlington's size. 

We had not time to go ashore in Muscatine, but had a 
daylight view of it from the boat. I lived there a while, 
many years ago, but the place, now, had a rather unfa- 
miliar look; so I suppose it has clear outgrown the town 
which I used to know. In fact, I know it has; for I 
remember it as a small place — which it isn't now. But I 
remember it best for a lunatic who caught me out in the 
fields, one Sunday, and extracted a butcher-knife from 
his boot and proposed to carve me up with it, unless I 
acknowledged him to be the only son of the Devil. I 
tried to compromise on an acknowledgment that he was 
the only member of the family I had met; but that did 
not satisfy him; he wouldn't have any half-measures; I 
must say he w^as the sole and only son of the Devil — and 
he whetted his knife on his boot. It did not seem worth 
while to make trouble about a little thing like that; so I 
swung round to his view of the matter and saved my skin 
whole. Shortly afterward, he went to visit his father; 
and as he has not turned up since, I trust he is there yet. 

And I remember Muscatine — still more pleasantly — for 
its summer sunsets. I have never seen any, on either 
side of the ocean, that equalled them. They used the 
broad, smooth river as a canvas, and painted on it every 



409 



imaginable dream of color, from the mottled daintinesses 
and delicacies of the opal, all the way up, through cumu- 
lative intensities, to blinding purple and crimson con- 
flagrations, which were enchanting to the eye, but sharply 
tried it at the same time. All the Upper Mississippi 
region has these extraordinary sunsets as a familiar 
spectacle. It is the true Sunset Land: I am sure no 
other country can show so good a right to the name. 
The sunrises are also said to be exceedingly fine. I ao 
not know. 



CHAPTER LVIII 
ON THE UPPER RIVER 

The big towns drop in, thick and fast, now: and be- 
tween stretch processions of thrifty farms, not desolate 
solitude. Hour by hour, the boat ploughs deeper and 
deeper into the great and populous Northwest; and with 
each successive section of it which is revealed, one's sur- 
prise and respect gather emphasis and increase. Such a 
people, and such achievements as theirs, compel homage. 
This is an independent race who think for themselves, 
and who are competent to do it, because they are 
educated and enlightened; they read, they keep abreast 
of the best and newest thought; they fortify every weak 
place in their land v/ith a school, a college, a library, and 
a newspaper; and they live under law. Solicitude for 
the future of a race like this is not in order. 

This region is new; so new that it may be said to be 
still in its babyhood. By what it has accomplished while 
still teething, one may forecast what marvels it will do 
in the strength of its maturity. It is so new that the 
foreign tourist has not heard of it yet; and has not 
visited it. For sixty years the foreign tourist has 
steamed up and down the river between St. Louis and 
New Orleans, and then gone home and written his book; 
believing he had seen all of the river that was worth 
seeing or that had any thing to see. In not six of all 
these books is there mention of these Upper-River 
towns — for the reason that the five or six tourists who 
penetrated this region did it before these towns were 
projected. The latest tourist of them all (1878) made 



the same old regulation trip — he had not heard that there 
was any thing north of St. Louis. 

Yet there was. There was this amazing region, brist- 
ling with great towns, projected day before yesterday, so 
to speak, and built next morning. A score of them 
number from 1500 to 5000 people. Then we have Mus- 
catine, ic,ooo; Winona, 10,000; Moline, 10,000; Rock 
Island, 12,000; La Crosse, 12,000; Burlington, 25,000; 
Dubuque, 25,000; Davenport, 30,000; St. Paul, 58,000; 
Minneapolis, 60,000 and upward. 

The foreign tourist has never heard of these; there is 
no note of them in his books. They have sprung up in 
the night, while he slept. So new is this region that I, 
who am comparatively young, am yet older than it is. 
AVhen I was born St. Paul had a population of three 
persons; Minneapolis had just a third as many. The 
then population of Minneapolis died two years ago; and 
when he died he had seen himself undergo an increase, 
in forty years, of fifty-nine thousand nine hundred and 
ninety-nine persons. He had a frog's fertility. 

I must explain that the figures set down above, as 
the population of St. Paul and Minneapolis, are several 
months old. These towns are far larger now. In fact, 
I have just seen a newspaper estimate, which gives the 
former seventy-one thousand and the latter seventy- 
eight thousand. This book will not reach the public for 
six or seven months yet; none of the figures will be 
worth much then. 

We had a glimpse at Davenport, which is another beau- 
tiful city, crowning a hill — a. phrase which applies to all 
these towns; for they are all comely, all well built, clean, 
orderly, pleasant to the eye, and cheering to the spirit; 
and they are all situated upon hills. Therefore we will 
give that phrase a rest. The Indians have a tradition 
that Marquette and Joliet camped where Davenport now 



412 



stands, in 1673. The next white man who camped there, 
did it about a hundred and seventy years later — in 1834. 
Davenport has gathered its thirty thousand people within 
the past thirty years. She sends more children to her 
schools now than her whole population numbered twenty- 
three years ago. She has the usual Upper-River quota 
of factories, newspapers, and institutions of learning; 
she has telephones, local telegraphs, an electric alarm, 
and an admirable paid fire department, consisting of 
six hook and ladder companies, four steam fire-engines, 
and thirty churches. Davenport is the official residence 
of two bishops — Episcopal and Catholic. 

Opposite Davenport is the flourishing town of Rock 
Island, which lies at the foot of the Upper Rapids. A 
great railroad bridge connects the two towns — one of the 
thirteen which fret the Mississippi and the pilots between 
St. Louis and St. Paul. 

The charming island of Rock Island, three miles long 
and half a mile wide, belongs to the United States, and 
the Government has turned it into a wonderful park, 
enhancing its natural attractions by art, and threading its 
fine forests with many miles of drives. Near the centre 
of the island one catches glimpses, through the trees, of 
ten vast stone four-story buildings, each of which covers 
an acre of ground. These are the Government work- 
shops; for the Rock Island establishment is a national 
armory and arsenal. 

We move up the river — always through enchanting 
scenery, there being no other kind on the Upper Mis- 
sissippi — and pass Moline, a centre of vast manufactur- 
ing industries; and Clinton and Lyons, great lumber 
centres; and presently reach Dubuque, which is situated 
in a rich mineral region. The lead mines are very pro- 
ductive, and of wide extent. Dubuque has a great num- 
ber of manufacturing establishments ; among them a 



413 



plough factory, which has for customers all Christendom 
in general. At least so I was told by an agent of the 
concern who was on the boat. He said : 

" You show me any country under the sun where they 
really know /wza to plough, and if I don't show you our 
mark on the plough they use, I'll eat that plough; and 
I won't ask for any Woostershyre sauce to flavor it up 
with, either." 

All this part of the river is rich in Indian history and 
traditions. Black Hawk's was once a puissant name here- 
abouts ; as was Keokuk's, further down. A few miles 
below Dubuque is theTete deMort, — Death's-head rock, 
or bluff, — to the top of which the French drove a band of 
Indians, in early times, and cooped them up there, with 
death for a certainty, and only the manner of it matter 
of choice — to starve, or jump off and kill themselves. 
Black Hawk adopted the ways of the white people 
toward the end of his life; and when he died he was 
buried, near Des Moines, in Christian fashion, modified 
by Indian custom; that is to say, clothed in a Christian 
military uniform, and with a Christian cane in his hand, 
but deposited in the grave in a sitting posture. Formerly, 
a horse had always been buried with a chief. The sub- 
stitution of the cane shows that Black Hawk's haughty 
nature was really humbled, and he expected to walk when 
he got over. 

We noticed that above Dubuque the water of the Mis- 
sissippi was olive-green — rich and beautiful and semi- 
transparent, with the sun on it. Of course the water 
was nowhere as clear or of as fine a complexion as it is in 
some other seasons of the year; for now it was at flood 
stage, and therefore dimmed and blurred by the mud 
manufactured from caving banks. 

The majestic bluffs that overlook the river, along 
through this region, charm one with the grace and 



414 



variety of their forms, and the soft beauty of their adorn- 
ment. The steep, verdant slope, whose base is at the 
water's edge, is topped by a lofty rampart of broken, tur- 
reted rocks, which are exquisitely rich and mellow in 
color — mainly dark browns and dull greens, but splashed 
with other tints. And then you have the shining river, 
winding here and there and yonder, its sweep interrupted 
at intervals by clusters of wooded islands threaded by 
silver channels; and you have glimpses of distant vil- 
lages, asleep upon capes; and of stealthy rafts slipping 
along in the shade of the forest walls; and of white 
steamers vanishing around remote points. And it is all 
as tranquil and reposeful as dreamland, and has nothing 
this-worldly about it — nothing to hang a fret or a worry 
upon. 

Until the unholy train comes tearing along — which it 
presently does, ripping the sacred solitude to rags and 
tatters with its devil's war-wdioop and the roar and thun- 
der of its rushing wdieels — and straightway you are back 
in this world, and v/ith one of its frets ready to hand for 
your entertainment: for you remember that this is the 
very road whose stock always goes down after you buy 
it, and always goes up again as soon as you sell it. It 
makes me shudder to this day, to remember that I once 
came near not getting rid of my stock at all. It must be 
an awful thing to have a railroad left on your hands. 

The locomotive is in sight from the deck of the steam- 
boat almost the whole way from St. Louis to St. Paul- 
eight hundred miles. These railroads have made havoc 
with the steamboat commerce. The clerk of our boat^ 
was a steamboat clerk before these roads were built. In 
that day the influx of population was so great, and the 
freight business so heavy, that the boats were not able to 
keep up with the demands made upon their carrying ca- 
pacity; consequently the captains were very independent 



415 



and airy — pretty "biggity," as Uncle Remus would say. 
The clerk nut-shelled the contrast between the former 
time and the present, thus: 

" Boat used to land — captain on hurricane roof — mighty 
stiff and straight — iron ramrod for a spine — kid gloves, 
plug tile, hair parted behind — man on shore takes off hat 
and says: 

'' ' Got twenty-eight tons of wheat, cap'n — be great 
favor if you can take them.' 

'' Captain says: 

" ' '11 take two of them ' — and don't even condescend 
to look at him. 

''But nowadays the captain takes off his old slouch, 
and smiles all the way around to the back of his ears, and 
gets off a bow which he hasn't got any ramrod to in- 
terfere with, and says: 

'''Glad to see you, Smith, glad to see you — you're 
looking well — haven't seen you looking so well for years 
— what you got for us ? ' 

" 'Nuth'n',' says Smith; and keeps his hat on, and just 
turns his back and goes to talking with somebody else. 

"Oh, yes! eight years ago, the captain was on top; 
but it's Smith's turn now. Eight years ago a boat used 
to go up the river with every stateroom full, and people 
piled five and six deep on the cabin floor; and a solid 
deck-load of immigrants and harvesters down below, into 
the bargain. To get a first-class stateroom, you'd got to 
prove sixteen quarterings of nobility and four hundred 
years of descent, or be personally acquainted with the 
nigger that blacked the captain's boots. But it's all 
changed now; plenty staterooms above, no harvesters 
below — there's a patent self-binder now, and they don't 
have harvesters any more; they've gone where the wood- 
bine twineth — and they didn't go by steamboat, either, 
went by the train." 



4i6 



Up in this region we met massed acres of lumber rafts 
coming down — but not floating leisurely along, in the old- 
fashioned way, manned with joyous and reckless crews of 
fiddling, song-singing, whiskey-drinking, breakdown-danc- 
ing rapscallions; no, the whole thing w^as shoved swiftly 
along by a powerful stern-wheeler, modern fashion; and 
the small crews were quiet, orderly men, of a sedate 
business aspect, with not a suggestion of romance about 
them anywdiere. 

Along here, somewhere, on a black night, we ran some 
exceedingly narrow and intricate island-chutes by aid of 
the electric light. Behind was solid blackness — a crack- 
l^ss bank of it; ahead, a narrow elbow of water, curving 
between dense v^^alls of foliage that almost touched our 
bows on both sides; and here every individual leaf, and 
every individual ripple stood out in its natural color, and 
flooded with a glare as of noonday intensified. The 
effect was strange and fine, and very striking. 

We passed Prairie du Chien, another of Father Mar- 
quette's camping-places; and after some hours of prog- 
ress through varied and beautiful scenery, reached La 
Crosse. Here is a tow^n of twelve or thirteen thousand 
population, with electric lighted streets, and blocks of 
buildings which are stately enough, and also architectur- 
ally fine enough to command respect in any city. It is a 
choice town, and we made satisfactory use of the hour 
allowed us, in roaming it over, though the weather was 
rainier than necessary. 



CHAPTER LIX 
LEGENDS AND SCENERY 

We added several passengers to our list at La Crosse; 
among others an old gentleman who had come to this 
Northwestern region with the early settlers, and was 
familiar with every part of it. Pardonably proud of it, 
too. He said: 

"You'll find scenery between here and St. Paul that 
can give the Hudson points. You'll have the Queen's 
Bluff — seven hundred feet high, and just as imposing a 
spectacle as you can find anywheres; and Trempeleau 
Island, which isn't like any other island in America, I 
believe, for it is a gigantic mountain, with precipitous 
sides, and is full of Indian traditions, and used to be full 
of rattlesnakes; if you catch the sun just right there, 
you will have a picture that will stay with you. And 
above Winona you'll have lovely prairies; and then come 
the Thousand Islands, too beautiful for any thing. Green? 
Why, you never saw foliage so green, nor packed so thick; 
it's like a thousand plush cushions afloat on a looking- 
glass — when the water's still; and then the monstrous 
bluffs on both sides of the river — rao^ored, ruo;-2:ed, dark- 
complected — just the frame that's wanted; you always 
want a strong frame, you know, to throw up the nice 
points of a delicate picture and make them stand out." 

The old gentleman also told us a touching Indian 
legend or two — but not very powerful ones. 

After this excursion into history, he came back to the 
scenery, and described it, detail by detail, from the 
Thousand Islands to St. Paul; naming its names with 
27 



4i8 



such facility, tripping along his theme with such nimble 
and confident ease, slamming in a three-ton word, here 
and there, with such a complacent air of 'tisn't-any- 
thing, -I-can-do-it-any-time-I-want-to, and letting off fine 
surprises of lurid eloquence at such judicious intervals, 
that I presently began to suspect 

But no matter what I began to suspect. Hear him: 

" Ten miles above Winona we come to Fountain City, 
nestling sweetly at the feet of cliffs that lift their awful 
fronts, Jove-like, toward the blue depths of heaven, bath- 
ing them in virgin atmospheres that have known no other 
contact save that of angels' wings. 

"And next we glide through silver waters, amid lovely 
and stupendous aspects of nature that attune our hearts 
to adoring admiration, about twelve miles, and strike 
Mount Vernon, six hundred feet high, with romantic 
ruins of a once first-class hotel perched far among the 
cloud shadows that mottle its dizzy heights — sole remnant 
of once-flourishing Mount Vernon, town of early days, 
now desolate and utterly deserted. 

"And so we move on. Past Chimney Rock we fly — 
noble shaft of six hundred feet; then just before landing 
at Minnieska our attention is attracted by a most strik- 
ing promontory rising over five hundred feet — the ideal 
mountain pyramid. Its conic shape, thickly wooded 
surface girding its sides, and its apex like that of a cone, 
cause the spectator to wonder at nature's workings. 
From its dizzy heights superb views of the forests, 
streams, bluffs, hills, and dales, below and beyond for 
miles, are brought within its focus. What grander river 
scenery can be conceived, as we gaze upon this enchant- 
ing landscape, from the uppermost point of these bluffs 
upon the valleys below? The primeval wildness and 
awful loneliness of these sublime creations of nature 
and nature's God, excite feelings of unbounded admira- 



J 



419 



tion, and the recollection of which can never be 
effaced from the memory, as we view them in any 
direction. 

" Next we have the Lion's Head and the Lioness's 
Head, carved by nature's hand, to adorn and dominate 
the beauteous stream; and then anon the river widens, 
and a most charming and magnificent view of the valley 
before us suddenly bursts upon our vision; rugged 
hills, clad with verdant forests from summit to base, 
level prairie lands, holding in their lap the beautiful 
Wabasha, City of the Healing Waters, puissant foe of 
Bright's disease, and that grandest conception of nature's 
works, incomparable Lake Pepin — these constitute a 
picture whereon the tourist's eye may gaze uncounted 
hours, with rapture unappeased and unappeasable. 

" And so we glide along: in due time encountering 
those majestic domes, the mighty Sugar Loaf, and the 
sublime Maiden's Rock — which latter, romantic super- 
stition has invested with a voice; and oft-times as the 
birch canoe glides near, at twilight, the dusky paddler fan- 
cies he hears the soft, sweet music of the long-departed 
Winona, darling of Indian song and story. 

" Then Frontenac looms upon our vision, delightful 
resort of jaded summer tourists; then progressive Red 
Wing; and Diamond Bluff, impressive and preponderous 
in its lone sublimity; then Prescott and the St. Croix; 
and anon we see bursting upon us the domes and steeples 
of St. Paul, giant young chief of the North, marching 
with seven-league stride in the van of progress, banner- 
bearer of the highest and newest civilization, carving his 
beneficent way with the tomahawk of commercial enter- 
prise, sounding the war-whoop of Christian culture, tear- 
ing off the reeking scalp of sloth and superstition to 
plant there the steam-plough and the school-house — ever 
in his front stretch arid lawlessness, ignorance, crime,. 



420 



despair; ever in his wake bloom the jail, the gallows, 
and the pulpit; and ever " 

''Have you ever travelled with a panorama ? " 

''I have formerly served in that capacity." 

My suspicion was confirmed. 

" Do you still travel with it ? " 

" No, she is laid up till the fall season opens. I am 
helping now to work up the materials for a Tourist's 
Guide which the St. Louis and St. Paul Packet Company 
are going to issue this summer for the benefit of travellers 
who go by that line." 

"When you were talking of Maiden's Rock, you spoke 
of the long-departed Winona, darling of Indian song and- 
story. Is she the maiden of the rock ? — and are the two 
connected by legend ?" 

"Yes, and a very tragic and painful one. Perhaps the 
most celebrated, as well as the most pathetic, of all the 
legends of the Mississippi." 

We asked him to tell it. He dropped out of his con- 
versational vein and back into his lecture gait without an 
effort, and rolled on as follows: 

"A little distance above Lake City is a famous point 
known as Maiden's Rock, which is not only a picturesque 
spot, but is full of romantic interest from the event 
which gave it its name. Not many years ago this 
locality was a favorite resort for the Sioux Indians on 
account of the fine fishing and hunting to be had there, 
and large numbers of them were always to be found in 
this locality. Among the families which used to resort 
here was one belonging to the tribe of Wabasha. We- 
no-na (first-born) was the name of a maiden who had 
plighted her troth to a lover belonging to the same band. 
But her stern parents had promised her hand to another, 
a famous warrior, and insisted on her wedding him. The 
day was fixed by her parents, to her great grief. She 



421 



appeared to accede to the proposal and accompanied them 
to the rock, for the purpose of gathering flowers for the 
feast. On reaching the rock, We-no-na ran to its sum- 
mit and, standing on its edge, upbraided her parents who 
were below, for their cruelty, and then, singing a death- 
dirge, threw herself from the precipice and dashed them 
in pieces on the rock below." 

" Dashed who in pieces — her parents ? " 

''Yes." 

''Well, it certainly was a tragic business, as you say. 
And moreover, there is a startling kind of dramatic sur- 
prise about it which I was not looking for. It is a dis- 
tinct improvement upon the threadbare form of Indian 
legend. There are fifty Lover's Leaps along the Missis- 
sippi from whose summit disappointed Indian girls have 
jumped, but this is the only jump in the lot that turned 
out in the right and satisfactory way. What became of 
Winona ? " 

" She was a good deal jarred up and jolted : but she got 
herself together and disappeared before the coroner 
reached the fatal spot; and 'tis said she sought and mar- 
ried her true love, and wandered with him to some dis- 
tant clime, where she lived happy ever after, her gentle 
spirit mellowed and chastened by the romantic incident 
which had so early deprived her of the sweet guidance of 
a mother's love and a father's protecting arm, and thrown 
her, all unfriended, upon the cold charity of a censorious 
world." 

I was glad to hear the lecturer's description of the 
scenery, for it assisted my appreciation of what I saw of 
it, and enabled me to imagine such of it as we lost by the 
intrusion of night. 

As the lecturer remarked, this whole region is blanketed 
with Indian tales and traditions. But I reminded him 
that people usually merely mentioned this fact — doing it 



422 



in a way to make a body's mouth water — and judiciously 
stopped there. Why ? Because the impression left was 
that these tales were full of incident and imagination — a 
pleasant impression which would be promptly dissipated 
if the tales were told. I showed him a lot of this sort of 
literature which I had been collecting, and he confessed 
that it was poor stuff, exceedingly sorry rubbish; and I 
ventured to add that the legends which he had himself 
told us were of this character, with the single exception 
of the admirable story of Winona. He granted these 
facts, but said that if I would hunt up Mr. Schoolcraft's 
book, published near fifty years ago, and now doubtless 
out of print, I would find some Indian inventions in it 
that were very far from being barren of incident and 
imagination; that the tales in "Hiawatha" were of this 
sort, and they came from Schoolcraft's book; and that 
there were others in the same book which Mr, Longfellow 
could have turned into verse with good effect. For 
instance, there was the legend of " The Undying Head." 
He could not tell it, for many of the details had grown 
dim in his memory; but he would recommend me to find 
it and enlarge my respect for the Indian imagination. 
He said that this tale, and most of the others in the 
book, were current among the Indians along this part 
of the Mississippi when he first came here; and that 
the contributors to Schoolcraft's book had got them 
directly from Indian lips, and had written them down 
with strict exactness, and without embellishments of 
their own. 

I have found the book. The lecturer was right. There 
are several legends in it which confirm what he said. I 
will offer two of them — "The Undying Head," and 
*' Peboan and Seegwun, an Allegory of the Seasons." 
The latter is used in "Hiawatha"; but it is worth read- 
ing in the original form, if only that one may see how 



423 



effective a genuine poem can be without the helps and 
graces of poetic measure and rhythm: 

PEBOAN AND SEEGWUN. 

An old man was sitting alone in his lodge, by the side of a frozen 
stream. It was the close of winter, and his fire was almost out. 
He appeared very old and very desolate. His locks were white 
with age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after day passed in 
solitude, and he heard nothing but the sound of the tempest, 
sweeping before it the new-fallen snow. 

One day, as his fire was just dying, a handsome young man 
approached and entered his dwelling. His cheeks were red with 
the blood of youth, his eyes sparkled with animation, and a smile 
played upon his lips. He walked with a light and quick step. His 
forehead was bound with a wreath of sweet grass, in place of a 
warrior's frontlet, and he carried a bunch of flowers in his hand. 

'"Ah, my son!" said the old man, " I am happy to see you. 
Come in ! Come and tell me of your adventures, and what strange 
lands you have been to see. Let us pass the night together, I 
will tell you of my prowess and exploits, and what I can perform. 
You shall do the same, and we will amuse ourselves." 

He then drew from his sack a curiously wrought antique pipe, 
and having filled it with tobacco, rendered mild by a mixture of 
certain leaves, handed it to his guest. When this ceremony was 
concluded they began to speak. 

" I blow my breath," said the old man, " and the stream stands 
still. The water becomes stiff and hard as clear stone." 

" I breathe," said the young man, " and flowers spring up over 
the plain." 

" I shake my locks," retorted the old man, " and snow covers the 
land. The leaves fall from the trees at my command, and my 
breath blows them away. The birds get up from the water, and 
fly to a distant land. The animals hide themselves from my 
breath, and the very ground becomes as hard as flint." 

*' I shake my ringlets," rejoined the young man, "and warm 
showers of soft rain fall upon the earth. The plants lift up their 
heads out of the earth, like the eyes of children glistening with 
delight. My voice recalls the birds. The warmth of my breath 



424 



unlocks the streams. Music tills the groves wherever I walk, and 
all nature rejoices." 

At length the sun began to rise. A gentle warmth came over 
the place. The tongue of the old man became silent. The robin 
and bluebird began to sing on the top of the lodge. The stream 
began to murmur by the door, and the fragrance of growing herbs 
and flowers came softly on the vernal breeze. 

Daylight fully revealed to the young man the character of his 
entertainer. When he looked upon him, he had the icy visage of 
Peboan.^ Streams began to flow from his eyes. As the sun 
increased, he grew less and less in stature, and anon had melted 
completely away. Nothing remained on the place of his lodge-fire 
but the m2skodeed,\ a small white flower, with a pink border, which 
is one of the earliest species of northern plants. 

^^ The Undying Head" is a rather long tale, but it 
makes up in weird conceits, fairy-tale prodigies, variety 
of incident, and energy of movement, for what it lacks in 
brevity.]: 

* Winter. f The trailing arbutus. % See Appendix D. 



CHAPTER LX 
SPECULATIONS AND CONCLUSIONS 

We reached St. Paul, at the head of navigation of tiie 
Mississippi, and there our voyage of two thousand miles 
from New Orleans ended. It is about a ten-day trip by 
steamer. It can probably be done quicker by rail. I 
judge so because I know that one may go by rail from 
St. Louis to Hannibal — a distance of at least a hundred 
and twenty miles — in seven hours. This is better than 
walking; unless one is in a hurry. 

The season being far advanced when we were in New 
Orleans, the roses and magnolia blossoms were falling; 
but here in St. Paul it was the snow. In New Orleans 
we had caught an occasional withering breath from over 
a crater, apparently; here in St, Paul we caught a fre- 
quent benumbing one from over a glacier, apparently. 

I am not trying to astonish by these statistics. No, it 
"is only natural that there should be a sharp difference be- 
tween climates which lie upon parallels of latitude which 
are one or two thousand miles apart. I take this posi- 
tion, and I will hold it and maintain it in spite of the 
newspapers. The newspaper thinks it isn't a natural 
thing; and once a year, in February, it remarks, with ill- 
concealed exclamation points, that while we, away up 
here are fighting snow and ice, folks are having new 
strawberries and peas down South; callas are blooming 
out of doors, and the people are complaining of the warm 
weather. The newspaper never gets done being sur- 
prised about it. It is caught regularly every February. 



426 



There mast be a reason for this; and this reason must be 
change of hands at the editorial desk. You cannot sur- 
prise an individual more than twice with the same marvel 
— not even with the February miracles of the Southern 
climate; but if you keep putting new hands at the edi- 
torial desk every year or two, and forget to vaccinate 
them against the annual climatic surprise, that same old 
thing is going to occur right along. Each year one new 
hand will have the disease, and be safe from its recur- 
rence; but this does not save the newspaper. No, the 
newspaper is in as bad case as ever; it wnll forever have 
its new hand; and so, it will break out with the straw- 
berry surprise every February as long as it lives. The 
new hand is curable; the newspaper itself is incurable. 
An act of Congress — no, Congress could not prohibit the 
strawberry surprise without questionably stretching its 
powers. An amendment to the Constitution might fix 
the thing, and that is probably the best and quickest way 
to get at it. Under authority of such an amendment. 
Congress could then pass an act inflicting imprisonment 
for life for the first offence, and some sort of lingering 
death for subsequent ones; and this, no doubt, would 
presently give us a rest. At the same time, the amend- 
ment and the resulting act and penalties might easily be 
made to cover various cognate abuses, such as the 
Annual - Veteran-who - has - Voted - for-Every - President- 
from-Washington-down,-and-Walked-to-the-Polls-Yester- 
day-with-as - Bright-an- Eye-and -as-Firm-a-Step-as-Ever, 
and ten or eleven other weary yearly marvels of that sort, 
and of the Oldest-Freemason, and Oldest-Printer, and 
Oldest-Baptist-Preacher, and Oldest-Alumnus sort, and 
Three-Children-Born-at-a-Birth sort, and so on, and so 
on. And then England w^ould take it up and pass a law 
prohibiting the further use of Sidney Smith's jokes, and 
appointing a commissioner to construct some new ones. 



427 



Then life would be a sweet dream of rest and peace, and 
the nations would cease to long for heaven. 

But I wander from my theme. St. Paul is a wonderful 
town. It is put together in solid blocks of honest brick 
and stone, and has the air of intending to stay. Its post- 
office was established thirty-six years ago; and by and by, 
when the postmaster received a letter, he carried it to 
Washington, horseback, to enquire what was to be done 
with it. Such is the legend. Two frame houses were 
built that year, and several persons were added to the 
population. A recent number of the leading St. Paul 
paper, the Fionee?- Press, gives some statistics which fur- 
nish a vivid contrast to that old state of things, to wit: 
Population, autumn of the present year (1882), 71,000; 
number of letters handled, first half of the year, 1,209,- 
387 ; number of houses built during three-quarters of the 
year, 989; their cost, $3,186,000. The increase of letters 
over the corresponding six months of last year was fifty 
per cent. Last year the new buildings added to the city 
cost above $4,500,000. St. Paul's strength lies in her 
commerce — I mean his commerce. He is a manufactur- 
ing city, of course, — all the cities of that region are, — 
but he is peculiarly strong in the matter of commerce. 
Last year his jobbing trade amounted to upward of 
$52,000,000. 

He has a custom-house, and is building a costly capitol 
to replace the one recently burned — for he is the capital 
of the State. Lie has churches without end; and not the 
cheap poor kind, but the kind that the rich Protestant 
puts up, the kind that the poor Irish ''hired-girl" 
delights to erect. What a passion for building majestic 
churches the Irish hired-girl has. It is a fine thing for 
our architecture; but too often we enjoy her stately 
fanes without giving her a grateful thought. In fact, 
instead of reflecting that " every brick and every stone 



428 



in this beautiful edifice represents an ache or a pain, and 
a handful of sweat, and hours of heavy fatigue, con- 
tributed by the back and forehead and bones of poverty," 
it is our habit to forget these things entirely, and merely 
glorify the mighty temple itself^ without vouchsafing one 
praiseful thought to its humble builder, whose rich heart 
and withered purse it symbolizes. 

This is a land of libraries and schools. St. Paul has 
three public libraries, and they contain, in the aggregate, 
some forty thousand books. He has one hundred and 
sixteen school-houses, and pays out more than seventy 
thousand dollars a year in teachers' salaries. 

There is an unusually fine railway station; so large is 
it, in fact, that it seemed somewhat overdone, in the 
matter of size, at first; but at the end of a few months it 
was perceived that the mistake was distinctly the other 
w^ay. The error is to be corrected. 

The town stands on high ground; it is about seven 
hundred feet above the sea-level. It is so high that a 
wide view of river and lowland is offered from its streets. 

It is a very wonderful town indeed, and is not finished 
yet. All the streets are obstructed with building material, 
and this is being compacted into houses as fast as pos- 
sible, to make room for more — for other people are 
anxious to build, as soon as they can get the use of the 
streets to pile up their bricks and stuff in. 

How solemn and beautiful is the thought that the 
earliest pioneer of civilization, the van-leader of civiliza- 
tion, is never the steamboat, never the railroad, never 
the newspaper, never the Sabbath-school, never the 
missionary — but always whiskey! Such is the case. 
Look history over; you will see. The missionary comes 
after the w^hiskey — I mean he arrives after the whiskey has 
arrived; next comes the poor immigrant, with axe and hoe 
and rifle; next, the trader; next, the miscellaneous rush; 



429 



next, the gambler, the desperado, the highwayman, and 
all their kindred in sin of both sexes; and next, the 
smart chap who has bought up an old grant that covers 
all the land; this brings the lawyer tribe; the vigilance 
committee brings the undertaker. All these interests 
bring the newspaper; the newspaper starts up politics 
and a railroad; all hands turn to and build a church and 
a jail— and behold ! civilization is established forever 
in the land. But whiskey, you see, was the van-leader 
in this beneficent work. It always is. It was like a 
foreigner — and excusable in a foreigner — to be ignorant 
of this great truth, and wander off into astronomy to 
borrow a symbol. But if he had been conversant with 
the facts, he would have said : 

Westward the Jug of Empire takes its way. 

This great van-leader arrived upon the ground which 
St. Paul now occupies, in June, 1837. Yes, at that date, 
Pierre Parrant, a Canadian, built the first cabin, uncorked 
his jug, and began to sell whiskey to the Indians. The 
result is before us. 

All that I have said of the newness, briskness, swift 
progress, wealth, intelligence, fine and substantial archi- 
tecture, and general slash and go, and energy of St. Paul, 
will apply to his near neighbor, Minneapolis — with the 
addition that the latter is the bigger of the two cities. 

These extraordinary towns were ten miles apart a few 
months ago, but were growing so fast that they may pos- 
sibly be joined now and getting along under a single 
mayor. At any rate, within five years from now there 
will be at least such a substantial ligament of buildings 
stretching between them and uniting them that a stranger 
will not be able to tell where the one Siamese twin leaves 
off and the other begins. Combined, they will then num- 
ber a population of two hundred and fifty thousand, if 



430 



they continue to grow as they are now growing. Thus, 
this centre of population, at the head of Mississippi navi- 
gation, will then begin a rivalry as to numbers with that 
centre of population at the foot of it — New Orleans. 

Minneapolis is situated at the falls of St. Anthony, 
which stretch across the river fifteen hundred feet, and 
have a fall of eighty-two feet — a water-power which, by 
art, has been made of inestimable value, business-wise, 
though somewhat to the damage of the Falls as a 
spectacle, or as a background against which to get your 
photograph taken. 

Thirty flouring mills turn out two million barrels of the 
very choicest of flour every year; twenty sawmills pro- 
duce two hundred million feet of lumber annually; then 
there are woollen mills, cotton mills, paper and oil mills; 
and sash, nail, furniture, barrel, and other factories, with- 
out number, so to speak. The great flouring-mills here 
and at St. Paul use the " new process " and mash the 
wheat by rolling, instead of grinding it. 

Sixteen railroads meet in Minneapolis, and sixty-five 
passenger trains arrive and depart daily. 

In this place, as in St. Paul, journalism thrives. Here 
there are three great dailies, ten weeklies, and three 
monthlies. 

There is a university, with four hundred students — and, 
better still, its good efforts are not confined to enlight- 
ening the one sex. There are sixteen public schools, 
with buildings which cost five hundred thousand dollars; 
there are six thousand pupils and one hundred and 
twenty-eight teachers. There are also seventy churches 
existing, and a lot more projected. The banks aggregate 
a capital of three million dollars, and the wholesale job- 
bing trade of the town amounts to fifty million dollars a 
year. 

Near St. Paul and Minneapolis are several points of 



431 



interest — Fort Snelling, a fortress occupying a river-bluff 
a hundred feet liigh; tlie falls of Minnehaha; White-bear 
Lake, and so forth. The beautiful falls of Minnehaha 
are sufficiently celebrated — they do not need a lift from 
me, in that direction. The White-bear Lake is less 
known. It is a lovely sheet of water, and is being util- 
ized as a summer-resort by the wealth and fashion of the 
State. It has its club-house, and its hotel, with the mod- 
ern improvements and conveniences; its fine summer 
residences; and plenty of fishing, hunting, and pleasant 
drives. There are a dozen minor summer resorts around 
about St. Paul and Minneapolis, but the White-bear Lake 
is the resort. Connected with White-bear Lake is a most 
idiotic Indian legend. I would resist the temptation to 
print it here, if I could, but the task is beyond my 
strength. The guide-book names the preserver of the 
legend, and compliments his '' facile pen." Without fur- 
ther comment or delay then, let us turn the said facile 
pen loose upon the reader: 

A LEGEND OF WHITE-BEAR LAKE. 

Every spring, for perhaps a century, or as long as there has 
been a nation of red men, an island in the middle of White-bear 
Lake has been visited by a band of Indians for the purpose of 
making maple sugar. 

Tradition says that many springs ago, while upon this island, a 
young warrior loved and wooed the daughter of his chief, and it is 
said, also, the maiden loved the warrior. He had again and again 
been refused her hand by her parents, the old chief alleging that 
he was no brave, and his old consort called him a woman ! 

The sun had again set upon the " sugar-bush," and the bright 
moon rose high in the bright blue heavens, when the young warrior 
took down his flute and went out alone, once more to sing the story 
of his love ; the mild breeze gently moved the two gay feathers in 
his head-dress, and as he mounted on the trunk of a leaning tree, 
the damp snow fell from his feet heavily. As he raised his flute to 



432 



his lips, his blanket shpped from his well-formed shoulders, and 
lay partly on the snow beneath. He began his weird, wild love- 
song, but soon felt that he was cold, and as he reached back for 
his blanket, some unseen hand laid it gently on his shoulders ; it 
was the hand of his love, his guardian angel. She took her place 
beside him, and for the present they were happy ; for the Indian 
has a heart to love, and in this pride he is as noble as in his own 
freedom, which makes him the child of the forest. As the legend 
runs, a large white bear, thinking, perhaps, that polar snows and 
dismal winter weather extended everywhere, took up his journey 
southward. He at length approached the northern shore of the 
lake which now bears his name, walked down the bank and made 
his way noiselessly through the deep, heavy snow toward the island. 
It was the same spring ensuing that the lovers met. They had 
left their first retreat, and were now seated among the branches 
of a large elm which hung far over the lake. (The same tree 
is still standing, and excites universal curiosity and interest.) For 
fear of being detected they talked almost in a whisper, and now, 
that they might get back to camp in good time and thereby avoid 
suspicion, they were just rising to return, when the maiden uttered 
a shriek which was heard at the camp, and bounding toward the 
young brave, she caught his blanket, but missed the direction of 
her foot and fell, bearing the blanket with her into the great arms 
of the ferocious monster. Instantly every man, woman, and child 
of the band were upon the bank, but all unarmed. Cries and 
wailings went up from every mouth. What was to be done ? In 
the meantime this white and savage beast held the breathless 
maiden in his huge grasp, and fondled with his precious prey as if 
he were used to scenes like this. One deafening yell from the 
lover warrior is heard above the cries of hundreds of his tribe, and 
dashing away to his wigwam he grasps his faithful knife, returns 
almost at a single bound to the scene of fear and fright, rushes out 
along the leaning tree to the spot where his treasure fell, and 
springing with the fury of a mad panther, pounced upon his prey. 
The animal turned, and with one stroke of his huge paw brought 
the lovers heart to heart, but the next moment the warrior, with 
one plunge of the blade of his knife, opened the crimson sluices of 
death, and the dying bear relaxed his hold. 

That night there was no more sleep for the band or the lovers, 



433 



and as the young and the old danced about the carcass of the dead 
monster, the gallant warrior was presented with another plume, 
and ere another moon had set he had a living treasure added to his 
heart. Their children for many years played upon the skin of the 
white bear, — from which the lake derives its name, — and the maiden 
and the brave remembered long the fearful scene and rescue that 
made them one, for Kis-se-me-pa and Ka-go-ka could never forget 
their fearful encounter with the huge monster that came so near 
sending them to the happy hunting-ground. 

It is a perplexing business. First, she fell down out of 
the tree — she and the blanket; and the bear caught her 
and fondled her — her and the blanket; then she fell up 
into the tree again — leaving the blanket; meantime the 
lover goes war-whooping home and comes back "heeled," 
climbs the tree, jumps down on the bear, the girl jumps 
down after him, — apparently, for she was up the tree, — re- 
sumes her place in the bear's arms along with the blanket, 
the lover rams his knife into the bear, and saves — whom ? 
The blanket? No — nothing of the sort. You get your- 
self all worked up and excited about that blanket, and 
then all of a sudden, just when a happy climax seems im- 
minent, you are let down flat — nothing saved but the girl! 
Whereas, one is not interested in the girl; she is not the 
prominent feature of the legend. Nevertheless, there 
you are left, and there you must remain; for if you live a 
thousand years you wnll never know who got the blanket. 
A dead man could get up a better legend than this one. 
I don't mean a fresh dead man either; I mean a man 
that's been dead weeks and weeks. 

We struck the home-trail now, and in a few hours were 
in that astonishing Chicago — a city where they are 
always rubbing the lamp, and fetching up the genii, and 
contriving and achieving new impossibilities. It is 
hopeless for the occasional visitor to try to keep up with 
Chicago — she outgrows his prophecies faster than he can 
28 . 



434 



make them. She is always a novelty, for she is never 
the Chicago you saw when you passed through the last 
time. The Pennsylvania road rushed us to New York 
without missing schedule time ten minutes anywhere on 
the route; and there ended one of the most enjoyable 
five-thousand-mile journeys I have ever had the good 
fortune to make. 



APPENDIX 



A 

{From the New Orleans Times-Democrat of March 29, 1882] 

VOYAGE OF THE TIMES-DEMOCRAT'S RELIEF BOAT 
THROUGH THE INUNDATED REGIONS 

It was nine o'clock Thursday morning when the Sicsie left the 
Mississippi and entered Old River, or what is now called the mouth 
of the Red. Ascending on the left, a flood was pouring in through 
and over the levees on the Chandler plantation, the most northern 
point in Point Coupee parish. The water completely covered the 
place, although the levees had given way but a short time before. 
The stock had been gathered in a large flat-boat, where, without 
food, as we passed, the animals were huddled together, waiting for 
a boat to tow them off. On the right-hand side of the river is 
Turnbull's Island, and on it is a large plantation which formerly 
was pronounced one of the most fertile in the State. The water 
has hitherto allowed it to go scot-free in usual floods, but now 
broad sheets of water told only where fields were. The top of the 
protective levee could be seen here and there, but nearly all of it 
was submerged. 

The trees have put on a greener foliage since the water has 
poured in, and the woods look bright and fresh, but this pleasant 
aspect to the eye is neutralized by the interminable waste of water. 
We pass mile after mile, and it is nothing but trees standing up to 
their branches in v/ater. A water-turkey now and again rises and 
flies ahead into the long avenue of silence. A pirogue sometimes 
flits from the bushes and crosses the Red River on its way out to 
the Mississippi, but the sad-faced paddlers never turn their heads 
to look at our boat. The puffing of the boat is music in this 
gloom, which affects one most curiously. It is not the gloom of 
deep forests or dark caverns, but a peculiar kind of solemn silence 



436 



and impressive awe that holds one perforce to its recognition. 
We passed two negro famihes on a raft tied up in the willows this 
morning. They were evidently of the well-to-do class, as they had 
a supply of meal and three or four hogs with them. Their rafts 
were about twenty feet square, and in front of an improvised 
shelter earth had been placed, on which they built their fire. 

The current running down the Atchafalaya was very swift, the 
Mississippi showing a predilection in that direction, which needs 
only to be seen to enforce the opinion of that river's desperate 
endeavors to find a short way to the Gulf. Small boats, skiffs, 
pirogues, etc., are in great demand, and many have been stolen by 
piratical negroes, who take them where they will bring the greatest 
price. From what was told me by Mr. C. P. Ferguson, a planter 
near Red River Landing, whose place has just gone under, there 
is much suffering in the rear of that place. The negroes had given 
up all thoughts of a crevasse there, as the upper levee had stood so 
long, and when it did come they were at its mercy. On Thursday 
a number were taken out of trees and off cabin roofs and brought 
in, many yet remaining. 

One does not appreciate the sight of earth until he has travelled 
through a flood. At sea one does not expect or look for it, but 
here, with fluttering leaves, shadowy forest aisles, house-tops 
barely visible, it is expected. In fact a grave-yard, if the mounds 
were above water, would be appreciated. The river here is knowm 
only because there is an opening in the trees, and that is all. It is 
in width, from Fort Adams on the left bank of the Mississippi to 
the bank of Rapides Parish, a distance of about sixty miles. A 
large portion of this was under, cultivation, particularly along the 
Mississippi and back of the Red. When Red River proper was 
entered, a strong current was running directly across it, pursuing 
the same direction as that of the Mississippi. 

After a run of some hours. Black River was reached. Hardly 
was it entered before signs of suffering became visible. All the 
willows along the banks were stripped of their leaves. One man, 
whom your correspondent spoke to, said that he had had one hun- 
dred and fifty head of cattle and one hundred head of hogs. At 
the first appearance of water he had started to drive them to the 
high lands of Avoyelles, thirty-five miles off, but he lost fifty head of 
the beef cattle and sixty hogs. Black River is quite picturesque, 



437 



even if its shores are under water. A dense growth of ash, oak, 
gum, and hickory makes the shores almost impenetrable, and where 
one can get a view down some avenue in the trees, only the dim 
outlines of distant trunks can be barely distinguished in the 
gloom. 

A few miles up this river, the depth of water on the banks was 
fully eight feet, and on all sides could be seen, still holding against 
the strong current, the tops of cabins. Here and there one over- 
turned was surrounded by drift-wood, forming the nucleus of pos- 
sibly some future island. 

In order to save coal, as it was impossible to get that fuel at any 
point to be touched during the expedition, a lookout was kept for a 
wood-pile. On rounding a point a pirogue, skilfully paddled by 
a youth, shot out, and in its bow was a girl of fifteen, of fair face, 
beautiful black eyes, and demure manners. The boy asked for a 
paper, which was thrown to him, and the couple pushed their tiny 
craft out into the swell of the boat. 

Presently a little girl, not certainly over twelve years, paddled 
out in the smallest little canoe and handled it with all the deftness 
of an old voyageur. The little one looked more like an Indian 
than a white child, and laughed when asked if she were afraid. 
She had been raised in a pirogue and could go anywhere. She 
was bound out to pick willow leaves for the stock, and she pointed 
to a house near by with water three inches deep on the floors. At 
its back door was moored a raft about thirty feet square, with a 
sort of fence built upon it, and inside of this some sixteen cows 
and twenty hogs were standing. The family did not complain, 
except on account of losing their stock, and promptly brought a 
supply of wood in a flat. 

From this point to the Mississippi River, fifteen miles, there is 
not a spot of earth above water, and to the westward for thirty-five 
miles there is nothing but the river's flood. Black River had risen 
during Thursday, the 23d, I^ inch, and was going up at night 
still. As we progress up the river habitations become more 
frequent, but are yet still miles apart. Nearly all of them are 
deserted, and the out-houses floated off. To add to the gloom, 
almost every living thing seems to have departed, and not a whistle 
of a bird nor the bark of a squirrel can be heard in the solitude. 
Sometimes a morose gar will throw his tail aloft and disappear in 



I 



438 



the river, but beyond this every thing is quiet — the quiet of dissolu- 
tion. Down the river floats now a neatly whitewashed hen-house, 
then a cluster of neatly split fence-rails, or a door and a bloated 
carcass, solemnly guarded by a pair of buzzards — the only bird to 
be seen — which feast on the carcass as it bears them along. A 
picture-frame, in which there was a cheap lithograph of a soldier 
on horseback, as it floated on told of some hearth invaded by the 
water and despoiled of this ornament. 

At dark, as it was not prudent to run, a place alongside the 
woods was hunted, and to a tall gum-tree the boat was made fast 
for the night. 

A pretty quarter of the moon threw a pleasant light over forest 
and river, making a picture that would be a delightful piece of 
landscape study, could an artist only hold it down to his canvas. 
The motion of the engines had ceased, the puffing of the escaping 
steam was stilled, and the enveloping silence closed upon us, and 
such silence it was! Usually in a forest at night one can hear the 
piping of frogs, the hum of insects, or the dropping of limbs ; but 
here Nature was dumb. The dark recesses, those aisles into this 
cathedral, gave forth no sound, and even the ripplings of the cur- 
rent die away. 

At daylight, Friday morning, all hands were up, and up the 
Black we started. The morning was a beautiful one, and the 
river, which is remarkably straight, put on its loveliest garb. 
The blossoms of the haw perfumed the air deliciously, and a few 
birds whistled blithely along the banks. The trees were larger, and 
the forest seemed of older growth than below. More fields were 
passed than nearer the mouth, but the same scene presented itself 
— smokehouses drifting out in the pastures, negro quarters an- 
chored in confusion against some oak, and the modest residence 
just showing its eaves above water. The sun came up in a glory of 
carmine, and the trees were brilliant in their varied shades of 
green. Not a foot of soil is to be seen anywhere, and the water is 
apparently growing deeper and deeper, for it reaches up to the 
branches of the largest trees. All along, the bordering willows 
have b,een denuded of leaves, showing how long the people have 
been at work gathering this fodder for their animals. An old 
man in a pirogue was asked how the willow leaves agreed with his 
cattle. He stopped in his work, and with an ominous shake of 



439 



his head rephed : " Well, sir, it's enough to keep warmth in their 
bodies, and that's all we expect, but it's hard on the hogs, particu- 
larly the small ones. They is dropping off powerful fast. But 
what can you do ? It's all we've got." 

At thirty miles above the mouth of Black River the water 
extends from Natchez on the Mississippi across to the pine hills 
of Louisiana, a distance of seventy-three miles, and there is 
hardly a spot that is not ten feet under it. The tendency of the 
current up the Black is toward the west. In fact, so much is this 
the case, the waters of Red River have been driven down from 
toward the Calcasieu country, and the waters of the Black enter 
the Red some fifteen miles above the mouth of the former, a thing 
never before seen by even the oldest steamboatmen. The water 
now in sight of us is entirely from the Mississippi. 

Up to Trinity, or rather Troy, which is but a short distance 
below, the people have nearly all moved out, those remaining hav- 
ing enough for their present personal needs. Their cattle, though, 
are suffering and dying off quite fast, as the confinement on rafts 
and the food they get breed disease. 

After a short stop we started, and soon came to a section where 
there were many open fields and cabins thickly scattered about. 
Here were seen more pictures of distress. On the inside of the 
houses the inmates had built on boxes a scaffold on which they 
placed the furniture. The bed-posts were sawed off on top, as the 
ceiling was not more than four feet from the improvised floor. 
The buildings looked very insecure, and threaten every moment to 
fioat off. Near the houses were cattle standing breast-high in the 
water, perfectly impassive. They did not move in their places, but 
stood patiently waiting for help to come. The sight was a dis- 
tressing one, and the poor creatures will be sure to die unless 
speedily rescued. Cattle differ from horses in this peculiar 
quality. A horse, after finding no relief comes, will swim off in 
search of food, whereas a beef will stand in its tracks until with 
exhaustion it drops in the water and drowns. 

At half-past twelve o'clock a hail was given from a flat-boat 
inside the line of the bank. Rounding to we ran alongside, and 
General York stepped aboard. He was just then engaged in 
getting off stock and welcomed the Times-Democ7-at boat 
heartily, as he said there was much need for her. He said that 



440 



Ic were m a 

condition it was difficult even for one to imagine. The water was 
so high there was great danger of their houses being swept away. 
It had already risen so high that it was approaching the eaves, and 
when it reaches this point there is always imminent risk of their 
being swept away. If this occurs, there will be great loss of life. 
The general spoke of the gallant work of many of the people in 
their attempts to save their stock, but thought that fully twenty- 
five per cent, had perished. Already twenty-five hundred people 
had received rations from Troy, on Black River, and he had towed 
out a great many cattle, but a very great quantity remained and 
were in dire need. The water was now eighteen inches higher 
than in 1874, and there was no land between Vidalia and the hills 
of Catahoula. 

At two o'clock the Susie reached Troy, sixty-five miles above 
the mouth of Black River. Here on the left comes in Little River ; 
just beyond that the Ouachita, and on the right the Tensas. 
These three rivers form the Black River. Troy, or a portion of it, 
is situated on and around thiee large Indian mounds, circular in 
shape, which rise above the present water about twelve feet. 
They are about one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, and are 
about two hundred yards apart. The houses are all built between 
these mounds, and hence are all flooded to a depth of eighteen 
inches on their floors. 

These elevations, built by the aborigines hundreds of years ago, 
are the only points of refuge for miles. When we arrived we 
found them crowded with stock, all of which was thin and hardly 
able to stand up. They were mixed together, sheep, hogs, hprses, 
mules, and cattle. One of these mounds has been used for many 
years as the grave-yard, and to-day we saw attenuated cows lying 
against the marble tomb-stones, chewing their cud in content- 
ment, after a meal of corn furnished by General York. Here, as 
below, the remarkable skill of the women and girls in the manage- 
ment of the smaller pirogues was noticed. Children were pad- 
dling about in these most ticklish crafts with all the nonchalance 
of adepts. 

General York has put into operation a perfect system in regard 
to furnishing relief. He makes a personal inspection of the place 
where it is asked, sees what is necessary to be done, and then, 



I 



441 



having two boats chartered, with flats, sends them promptly to the 
place, when the cattle are loaded and towed to the pine hills and 
uplands of Catahoula. He has made Troy his headquarters, and 
to this point boats come for their supply of feed for cattle. On 
the opposite side of Little River, which branches to the left out of 
Black, and between it and the Ouachita, is situated the town of 
Trinity, which is hourly threatened with destruction. It is much 
lower than Troy, and the water is eight and nine feet deep in the 
houses. A strong current sweeps through it, and it is remarkable 
that all of its houses have not gone before. The residents of both 
Troy and Trinity have been cared for, yet some of their stock have 
to be furnished with food. 

As soon as the Susie reached Troy she was turiied over to 
General York, and placed at his disposition to carry out the work 
of relief more rapidly. Nearly all her supplies were landed on one 
of the mounds to lighten her, and she was headed down stream to 
relieve those below. At Tom Hooper's place, a few miles from 
Troy, a large flat, with about fifty head of stock on board, was 
taken in tow. The animals were fed, and soon regained some 
strength. To-day we go on Little River, where the suffering is 
greatest. 



DOWN BLACK RIVER 

Saturday Evening, March 25. 
We started down Black River quite early, under the direction of 
General York, to bring out what stock could be reached. Going 
down river a flat in tow was left in a central locality, and from 
there men poled her back in the rear of plantations, picking up the 
animals wherever found. In the loft of a gin-house there were 
seventeen head found, and after a gangway was built, they were 
led down into the flat without difficulty. Taking a skiff with the 
general, your reporter was pulled up to a little house of two rooms, 
in which the water was standing tw^o feet on the floors. In one of 
the large rooms were huddled the horses and cows of the place, 
while in the other the Widow Taylor and her son were seated on 
a scaffold raised on the floor. One or two dug-outs were drifting 
about in the room, ready to be put in service at any time. When 



442 



the flat was brought up, the side of the house was cut away as the 
only means of getting the animals out, and the cattle were driven 
on board the boat. General York, in this as in every case, enquired 
if the family desired to leave, informing them that Major Burke of 
the Times-Democrat has sent tiie Susie up for that purpose. 
Mrs. Taylor said she thanked Major Burke, but she would try and 
hold out. The remarkable tenacity of the people here to their 
homes is beyond all comprehension. Just below, at a point sixteen 
miles from Troy, information w-as received that the house of Mr. 
Tom Ellis was in danger, and his family were all in it. We 
steamed there immediately, and a sad picture was presented. 
Looking out of the half of the window left above water was Mrs. 
Ellis, who is in feeble health, while at the door were her seven 
children, the oldest not fourteen years. One side of the house 
was given up to the work animals, some twelve head, besides hogs. 
In the next room the family lived, the water coming within two 
inches of the bed-rail. The stove was below water, and the cook- 
ing was done on a fire on top of it. The house threatened to give 
way at any moment ; one end of it was sinking, and, in fact, the 
building looked a mere shell. As the boat rounded to Mr. Ellis 
came out in a dug-out, and General York told him that he had 
come to his relief ; that the TiJites-Democrat boat was at his ser- 
vice, and would remove his family at once to the hills, and on Mon- 
day a flat would take out his stock, as. until that time, they would 
be busy. Notwithstanding the deplorable situation himself and 
family were in, Mr. Ellis did not want to leave. He said he thought 
he would wait until Monday, and take the risk of his house falling. 
The children around the door looked perfectly contented, seeming 
to care little for the danger they were in. These are but two 
instances of the many. After weeks of privation and suffering 
people still cling to their houses, and leave only when there is not 
room between the water and the ceiling to build a scaffold on 
which to stand. It seemed to be incomprehensible, yet the love 
for the old place was stronger than that for safety. 

After leaving the Ellis place, the next spot touched at was the 
Oswald place. Here the flat was towed alongside the gin-house, 
where there were fifteen head standing in water ; and yet, as they 
stood on scaffolds, their heads were above the top of the entrance. 
It was found impossible to get them out without cutting away a 



I 



443 



portion of the front ; and so axes were brought into requisition 
and a gap made. After much labor the horses and mules were 
securely placed on the flat. 

At each place we stop there are always three, four, or more dug- 
outs arriving, bringing information of stock in other places in need. 
Notwithstanding the fact that a great many had driven a part of 
their stock to the hills some time ago, there yet remains a large 
quantity, which General York, who is working with indomitable 
energy, will get landed in the pine hills by Tuesday. 

All along Black River the Susie has been visited by scores of 
planters, whose tales are the repetition of those already heard of 
suffering and loss. An old planter, who has lived on the river 
since 1844, said there never was such a rise, and he was satisfied 
more than one-quarter of the stock has been lost. Luckily the 
people cared first for their work stock, and when they could find it 
horses and mules were housed in a place of safety. The rise, which 
still continues, and was two inches last night, compels them to get 
them out to the hills ; hence it is that the work of General York is 
of such a great value. From daylight to late at night he is going 
this way and that, cheering by his kindly words and directing with 
calm judgment what is to be done. One unpleasant story, of a 
certain merchant in New Orleans, is told all along the river. It 
appears for some years past the planters have been dealing with 
this individual, and many of them had balances in his hands. When 
the overflow came they wrote for coffee, for meal, and in fact, for 
such little necessities as were required. No response to these 
letters came, and others were written, and yet these old customers, 
with plantations under water, were refused even what was neces- 
sary to sustain life. It is needless to say he is not popular now on 
Black River. 

The hills spoken of as the place of refuge for the people and 
stock on Black River are in Catahoula parish, twent)'--four miles 
from Black River. 

After filling the flat with cattle we took on board the family of 
T. S. Hooper, seven in number, who could not longer remain in 
their dwelling, and we are now taking them up Little River to 
the hills. 



444 



THE FLOOD STILL RISING 



Troy, March 27, 1882, noon. 

The flood here is rising about three and a half inches every 
twenty-four hours, and rains have set in which will increase this. 
General York feels now that our efforts ought to be directed 
toward saving life, as the increase of the water has jeopardized 
many houses. We intend to go up the Tensas in a few minutes, 
and then we will return and go down Black River to take off fam- 
ilies. There is a lack of steam transportation here to meet the 
emergency. The general has three boats chartered with flats in 
tow, but the demand for these to tow out stock is greater than they 
can meet with promptness. All are working night and day, and 
the Susie hardly stops for more than an hour anywhere. The 
rise has placed Trinity in a dangerous plight, and momentarily it 
is expected that some of the houses will float off. Troy is a Httle 
higher, yet all are in the water. Reports have come in that a 
woman and child have been washed away below here, and two 
cabins floated off. Their occupants are the same who refused to 
come off day before yesterday. One would not beheve the utter 
passiveness of the people. 

As yet no news has been received of the steamer Delia, which 
is supposed to be the one sunk in yesterday's storm on Lake Cata- 
houla. She is due here now, but has not arrived. Even the mail 
here is most uncertain, and this I send by skiff to Natchez to get 
it to you. It is impossible to get accurate data as to past crops, 
etc., as those who know much about the matter have gone, and 
those who remain are not well versed in the production of this 
section. 

General York desires me to say that the amount of rations for- 
merly sent should be duplicated and^ent at once. It is impos- 
sible to make any estimate, for the people are fleeing to the hills, 
so rapid is the rise. The residents here are in a state of com- 
motion that can only be appreciated when seen, and complete 
demoralization has set in. 

If rations are drawn for any particular section hereabouts 
they would not be certain to be distributed, so everything should 
be sent to Troy as a centre, and the general will have it properly 



445 



disposed of. He has sent for one hundred tents, and, if all go to 
the hills who are in motion now, two hundred will be required. 

B 

The condition of this rich valley of the Lower Mississippi, im- 
mediately after and since the war, constituted one of the disastrous 
effects of war most to be deplored. Fictitious property in slaves 
was not only righteously destroyed, but very much of the work 
which had depended upon the slave labor was also destroyed or 
greatly impaired, especially the levee system. 

It might have been expected, by those who have not investigated 
the subject, that such important improvements as the construction 
and maintenance of the levees v^ould have been assumed at once 
by the several States. But what can the State do where the people 
are under subjection to rates of interest ranging from eighteen to 
thirty per cent., and are also under the necessity of pledging their 
crops in advance even of planting, at these rates, for the privilege 
of purchasing all of their supplies at one hundred per cent, profit.'^ 

It has needed but little attention to make it perfectly obvious 
that the control of the Mississippi River, if undertaken at all, must 
be undertaken by the national Government, and cannot be com- 
passed by States. The river must be treated as a unit ; its con- 
trol cannot be compassed under a divided or separate system of 
administration. 

Neither are the States especially interested competent to com- 
bine among themselves for the necessary operations. The work 
must begin far up the river ; at least as far as Cairo, if not beyond, 
and must be conducted upon a consistent general plan throughout 
the course of the river. 

It does not need technical or scientific knowledge to compre- 
hend the elements of the case, if one will give a little time and 
attention to the subject ; and when a Mississippi River commission 
has been constituted, as the existing commission is, of thoroughly 
able men of different walks in life, may it not be suggested that 
their verdict in the case should be accepted as conclusive, so far as 
any a p7'iori theory of construction or control can be considered 
conclusive ? 

It should be remembered that upon this board are General 



446 



Gilmore, General Conistock, and General Suter of the United 
States Engineers ; Professor Henry Mitchell (the most competent 
authority on the question of hydrography) of the United States 
Coast Survey; B. B. Harrod, the State Engineer of Louisiana; 
Jas. B. Eads, whose success with the jetties at New Orleans is a 
warrant of his competency, and Judge Taylor of Indiana. 

It would be presumption on the part of any single man, 
however skilled, to contest the judgment of such a board as 
this. 

The method of improvement proposed by the commission is at 
once in accord with the results of engineering experience and with 
observations of nature where meeting our wants. As in nature 
the growth of trees and their proneness, where undermined, to fall 
across the slope and support the bank secure at some points a 
fair depth of channel and some degree of permanence ; so, in the 
project of the engineer, the use of timber and brush and the 
encouragement of forest growth are the main features. It is pro- 
posed to reduce the width, where excessive, by brushwood dykes, 
at first low, but raised higher and higher as the mud of the river 
settles under their shelter, and finally slope them back at the 
angle upon which willows will grow freely. In this work there 
are many details connected with the forms of these shelter dykes, 
their arrangements so as to present a series of settling basins, 
etc., a description of which would only complicate the conception. 
Through the larger part of the river works of contraction will not 
be required, but nearly all the banks on the concave side of the 
bends must be held against the wear of the stream, and much of 
the opposite banks defended at critical points. The works having 
in view this conservative object may be generally designated works 
of revetment ; and these also will be largely of brushwood, woven 
in continuous carpets, or twined into wire-netting. This veneer- 
ing process has been successfully employed on the Missouri 
River ; and in some cases they have so covered themselves with 
sediments, and have become so overgrown with willows, that they 
may be regarded as permanent. In securing these mats rubble- 
stone is to be used in small quantities, and in some instances the 
dressed slope between high and low river will have to be more or 
less paved with stone. 

Any one who has been on the Rhine v.'ill have observed opera- 



447 



tions not unlike those to which we have just referred ; and, indeed, 
most of the rivers of Europe flowing among their own alluvia 
have required similar treatment in the interest of navigation and 
agriculture. 

The levee is the crowning work of bank revetment, although 
not necessarily in immediate connection. It may be set back a 
short distance from the revetted bank ; but it is, in effect, the 
requisite parapet. The flood river and the low river cannot be 
brought into register, and compelled to unite in the excavation 
of a single permanent channel, without a complete control of all 
the stages ; and even the abnormal rise must be provided against, 
because this would endanger the levee, and once in force behind 
the works of revetment, would tear them also away. 

Under the general principle that the local slope of a river is the 
result and measure of the resistance of its bed, it is evident that a 
narrow and deep stream should have less slope, because it has less 
frictional surface in proportion to capacity ; /. e., less perimeter in 
proportion to area of cross section. The ultimate effect of levees 
and revetments, confining the floods and bringing all the stages of 
the river into register, is to deepen the channel and let down the 
slope. The first effect of the levees is to raise the surface ; but 
this, by inducing greater velocity of flow, inevitably causes an 
enlargement of section, and if this enlargement is prevented from 
being made at the expense of the banks, the bottom must 
give way and the form of the waterway be so improved as to 
admit this flow with less rise. The actual experience with levees 
upon the Mississippi River, with no attempt to hold the banks, 
has been favorable, and no one can doubt, upon the evidence fur- 
nished in the reports of the commission, that if the earliest levees 
had been accompanied by revetment of banks, and made complete, 
we should have to-day a river navigable at low water and an 
adjacent country safe from inundation. 

Of course it would be illogical to conclude that the constrained 
river can ever lower its flood slope so as to make levees 'unneces- 
sary, but it is believed that, by this lateral constraint, the river as 
a conduit may be so improved in form that even those rare floods 
which result from the coincident rising of many tributaries will 
find vent without destroying levees of ordinary height. That the 
actual capacity of a channel through alluvium depends upon its 



448 



service during floods has been often shown, but this capacity does 
not include anomalous, but recurrent, floods. 

It is hardly worth while to consider the projects for relieving 
the Mississippi River floods by creating new outlets, since these 
sensational propositions have commended themselves only to 
unthinking minds, and have no support among engineers. Were 
the river bed cast-iron, a resort to openings for surplus waters 
might be a necessity ; but as the bottom is yielding, and the best 
form of outlet is a single deep channel, as realizing the least ratio 
of perimeter to area of cross section, there could not well be a 
more unphilosophical method of treatment than the multiplica- 
tion of avenues of escape. 

In the foregoing statement the attempt has been made to con- 
dense in as limited a space as the importance of the subject would 
permit, the general elements of the problem, and the general feat- 
ures of the proposed method of improvement which has been 
adopted by the Mississippi River Commission. 

The writer cannot help feeling that it is somewhat presumptuous 
on his part to attempt to present the facts relating to an enter- 
prise which calls for the highest scientific skill ; but it is a matter 
which interests every citizen of the United States, and is one of 
the methods of reconstruction which ought to be approved. It is 
a war claim which implies no private gain, and no compensation 
except for one of the cases of destruction incident to war which 
may well be repaired by the people of the whole country. 

Edward Atkinson. 

Boston, April 14, 1882. 



C 

RECEPTION OF CAPTAIN BASIL HALL'S BOOK IN THE 
UNITED STATES 

Having now arrived nearly at the end of our travels, I am 
induced, ere I conclude, again to mention what I consider as one 
of the most remarkable traits in the national character of the 
Americans : namely, their exquisite sensitiveness and soreness 
respecting every thing said or written concerning them. Of this, 
perhaps, the most remarkable example I can give is the effect 



449 



produced on nearly ev^ery class of readers by the appenrance of 
Captain Basil Hall's "Travels in North America." In fact, it 
was a sort of moral earthquake, and the vibration it occasioned 
through tlie nerves of the republic, from one corner of the Union 
to the oiher, was by no means over when 1 left the country in 
July, 1 83 1, a couple of years after the shock. 

I was in Cincinnati when these volumes came out, but it was not 
till July, 1830, that I procured a copy of them. One bookseller to 
whom I applied told me tliat he had had a few copies before he 
understood the nature of the work, but that, after becoming ac- 
quainted with it, nothing should induce him to sell another. Other 
persons of his profession must, however, have been less scrupu- 
lous ; for the book was read in city, town, village and hamlet, 
steamboat and stage-coach, and a sort of war-whoop was sent 
forth perfectly unprecedented in my recollection upon any occa- 
sion whatever. 

An ardent desire for approbation, and a delicate sensitiveness 
under censure, have always, I believe, been considered as amiable 
traits of character; but the condition- into which tlie appearance of 
Captain Hall's work threw the republic shows plainly that these 
feelings, if carried to excess, produce a weakness which amounts 
to imbecility. 

It was perfectly astonishing to hear men who. on other subjects, 
were of some judgment utter their opinions upon this. I never 
heard of any instance in which the common-sense generally found 
in national criticism was so overthrown by passion. I do not 
speak of the want of justice, and of fair and liberal interpretation : 
these, perhaps, were iiardly to be expected. Other nations have 
been called thin-skinned, but the citizens of the Union have, ap- 
parently, no skins at all; they wince if a breeze blows over them, 
unless it be tempered with adulation. It was not, therefore, very 
surprising that the acute and forcible observations of a traveller 
they kiiew would be listened to should be received testily. The 
extraordinary features of the business were, first, the excess of the 
rage into which they lashed themselves ; and, secondly, the puer- 
ility of the inventions by which they attempted to account for the 
severity with which they fancied they had been treated. 

Not content with declaring that the volumes contained no word 
of truth from beginning to end (which is an assertion I heard 
29 



450 



made very nearly as often as they were mentioned), the whole 
country set to work to discover the causes why Captain Hall had 
visited the United States, and why he had published his book. 

I have heard it said with as much precision and gravity as if the 
statement had been conveyed by an official report, that Captain 
Hall had been sent out by the British Government expressly for the 
purpose of checking the growing admiration of England for the 
Government of the United States — that it was by a conmiission 
from the Treasury he had come, and that it was only in obedience 
to orders that he had found any thing to object to. 

I do not give this as the gossip of a coterie ; I am persuaded 
that it is the belief of a very considerable portion of the country. 
So deep is the conviction of this singular people that they cannot 
be seen without being admired, that they will not admit the possi- 
bility that any one should honestly and sincerely find aught to 
disapprove in them or their country. 

The American Reviews are, many of them, I believe, well known 
in England ; I need not, therefore, quote them here, but I some- 
times wondered that they, none of them, ever thought of translat- 
ing Obadiah's curse into classic American ; if they had done so, on 
placing [he, Basil Hall] between brackets, instead of [he, Obadiah] 
it would have saved them a world of trouble. 

I can hardly describe the curiosity with which I sat down at 
length to peruse these tremendous volumes ; still less can I do 
justice to my surprise at their contents. To say that I have found 
not one exaggerated statement throughout the work is by no 
means saying enough. It is impossible for any one who knows 
the country not to see that Captain Hall earnestly sought out 
things to admire and commend. When he praises, it is with evi- 
dent pleasure ; and when he finds fault, it is with evident reluc- 
tance and restraint, excepting where motives purely patriotic urge 
him to state roundly what it is for the benefit of his country should 
be known. 

In fact, Captain Hall saw the country to the greatest possible 
advantage. Furnished, of course, with letters of introduction to 
the most distinguished individuals, and with tlie still more influen- 
tial recommendation of his own reputation, he was received in full 
drawing-room style and state from one end of the Union to the 
other. He sav/ the country in full dress, and had little or no 



I 



451 



opportunity of judging of it unhouselled, unanointed, unannealed, 
with all its imperfections on its head, as I and my family too often 
had. 

Captain Hall had certainly excellent opportunities of making 
himself acquainted with the form of the government and the laws ; 
and of receiving, moreover, the best oral commentary upon them, 
in conversation with the most distinguished citizens. Of these 
opportunities he made excellent use ; nothing important met his 
eye which did not receive that sort of analytical attention which 
an experienced and philosophical traveller alone can give. This 
has made his volumes highly interesting and valuable ; but I am 
deeply persuaded that, were a man of equal penetration to visit the 
United States with no other means of becoming acquainted with 
the national character than the ordinary working-day intercourse 
of life, he would conceive an infinitely lower idea of tlie moral at- 
mosphere of the country than Captain Hall appears to have done; 
and the internal conviction on my mind is strong that, if Captain 
Hall had not placed a firm restraint on himself, he must have 
given expression to far deeper indignation than any he has uttered 
against many points m the American character, with which he 
shows from other circumstances that he was well acquainted. His 
rule appears to have been to state just so much of the truth as 
would leave on the mind of his readers a correct impression, at the 
least cost of pain to the sensitiv^e folks he was writing about. He 
states his own opinions and feelings, and leaves it to be inferred 
that he has good grounds for adopting them ; but he spares the 
Americans the bitterness which a detail of the circumstances 
would have produced. 

If any one chooses to say that some wicked antipathy to twelve 
millions of strangers is the origin of my opinion, I must bear it ; 
and were the question one of mere idle speculation, I certainly 
would not court the abuse I must meet for stating it. But it is 
not so. 

The candor which he expresses, and evidently feels, they mis- 
take for irony, or totally distrust ; his unwillingness to give pain to 
persons from whom he has received kmdness, they scornfully re- 
ject as affectation ; and although they must know right well, in 
their own secret hearts, how infinitely more they lay at his mercy 



452 



than he has chosen to ]3etray, they pretend, even to themselves, 
that he has exaggerated the bad points of their character and 
institutions ; whereas, the truth is that he has let them off with a 
degree of tenderness which may be quite suitable for him to exer- 
cise, however little merited ; while, at the same time, he has most 
industriously magnified their merits, whenever he could possibly 
find any thing favorable. 



D 

THE UNDYING HEAD 

In a remote part of the North lived a man and his sister, who 
liad never seen a human being. Seldom, if ever, had the man 
any cause to go from home ; for, as his wants demanded food, he 
had only to go a little distance from the lodge, and there, in some 
particular spot, place his arrows, with their barbs in the ground. 
Telling his sister where they had been placed, every morning she 
would go in search, and never fail of finding each stuck through 
the heart of a deer. She had then only to drag them into the 
lodge and prepare their food. Thus she lived till she attained 
womanhood, when one day her brother, whose name was lamo, 
said to her: "Sister, the time is at hand when you will be ill. 
Listen to my advice. If you do not, it will probably be the cause 
of my death. Take the implements with which we kindle our fires. 
Go some distance from our lodge and build a separate fire. When 
you are in want of food, I will tell you where to find it. You 
must cook for yourself, and I will for myself. When you are ill, 
do not attempt to come near the lodge, or bring any of the utensils 
you use. Be sure always to fasten to your belt the implements 
you need, for you do not know when the time will come. As for 
myself, I must do the best I can," His sister promised to obey 
him in all he had said. 

Shortly after, her brother had cause to go from home. She was 
alone in her lodge, combing her hair. She had just untied the belt 
to which the implements were fastened, when suddenly the event 
to which her brother had alluded occurred. She ran out of the 
lodge, but in her haste forgot the belt. Afraid to return, she stood 



453 



for some time, thinking. Finally, she decided to enter the lodge 
and get it. For, thought she, my brother is not at home, and I 
will stay but a moment to catch hold of it. She went back. Run- 
ning in suddenly, she caught hold of it, and was coming out when 
her brother came in sight He knew what was the matter. " Oh," 
he said, " did I not tell you to take care ? But now you have 
killed me." She was gomg on her way, but her brother said to 
her, " What can you do there now ? The accident has happened. 
Go in, and stay where you have always stayed. And what will 
become of you ? You have killed me." 

He then laid aside his huntmg-dress and accoutrements, and 
soon after both his feet began to turn black, so that he could not 
move. Still he directed his sister where to place the arrows, that 
she might always have food. The inflammation continued to 
increase, and had now reached his first rib ; and he said : " Sister, 
my end is near. You must do as I tell you. You see my medicine- 
sack, and my war-club tied to it. It contams all my medicines, 
and my war-plumes, and my paints of all colors. As soon as the 
inflammation reaches my breast, you will take my war-club. It 
has a sharp point, and you will cut off my head. When it is free 
from my body, take it, place its neck in the sack, which you must 
open at one end. Then hang it up in its former place. Do not 
forget my bow and arrows. One of the last you will take to pro- 
cure food. The remainder tie in my sack, and then hang it up» 
so that I can look toward the door. Now and then I will speak 
to you, but not often." His sister agam promised to obey. 

In a little time his breast was affected. " Now," said he, " take 
the club and strike off my head." She was afraid, but he told her 
to muster courage. ''Strike ! '' said he, and a smile was on his 
face. Mustering all her courage, she gave the blow and cut off 
the head. " Now," said the head, "place me where I told you." 
And fearfully she obeyed it in all its commands. Retaining its 
animation, it looked around the lodge as usual, and it would com- 
mand its sister to go in such places as it thought would procure 
for her the flesh of different animals she needed. One day the 
head said : " The time is not distant when I shall be freed from 
this situation, and I shall have to undergo many sore evils. So 
the superior manito decrees, and I must bear all patiently." In 
this situation we must leave the head. 



454 



In a certain part of the country was a village inhabited by a 
numerous and warlike band of Indians. In this village was a 
family of ten young men — brothers. It was in the spring of the 
year that the youngest of these blackened his face and fasted. 
His dreams were propitious. Having ended his fast, he went 
secretly for his brothers at night, so that none in the village could 
overhear or find out the direction they intended to go. Though 
their drum was heard, yet that was a common occurrence. Hav- 
ing ended the usual formalities, he told how favorable his dreams 
were, and that he had called them together to know if they would 
accompany him in a war excursion. They all answered they 
would. The third brother from the eldest, noted for his oddities, 
coming up with his war-club when his brother had ceased speak- 
ing, jumped up. " Yes," said he, " I will go, and this will be the 
way I will treat those I am going to fight "; and he struck the 
post in the centre of the lodge, and gave a yell. The others spoke 
to him, saying: " Slow, slow, Mudjikewis I when you are in other 
people's lodges." So he sat down. Then, in turn, they took the 
drum, and sang their songs, and closed with a feast. The 
youngest told them not to whisper their intention to their wives, 
but secretly to prepare for their journey. They all promised 
obedience, and Mudjikewis was the first to say so. 

The time for their departure drew near. Word was given to 
assemble on a certain night, when they would depart immediately. 
Mudjikewis was loud in his demands for his moccasins. Several 
times his wife asked him the reason. " Besides," said she, " you 
have a good pair on." " Quick, quick ! " said he, " since you must 
know, we are going on a war excursion ; so be quick." He thus 
revealed the secret. That night they met and started. The snow 
was on the ground, and they travelled all night, lest others should 
follow them. When it was daylight, the leader took snow and 
made a ball of it, then tossing it into the air, he said : " It was in 
this way I saw snow fall in a dream, so that I could not be tracked." 
And he told them to keep close to each other for fear of losing 
themselves, as the snow began to fall in very large flakes. Near 
as they walked, it was with difficulty they could see each other. 
The snow continued falling all that day and the following night, 
so it was impossible to track them. 

They had now walked for several days, and Mudjikewis was 



455 



always in the rear. One clay, running suddenly forward, he gave 
the saw-saw-qiian,^ and struck a tree with his war-club, and it 
broke into pieces as if struck with lightning. " Brothers," said 
he, ** this will be the way I will serve those we are going to fight." 
The leader answered, " Slow, slow, Mudjikewis ! The one I lead 
you to is not to be thought of so lightly." Again he fell back and 
thought to himself : *' What ! what ! Who can this be he is leading 
us to?" He felt fearful, and was silent. Day after day they 
travelled on, till they came to an extensive plain, on the borders of 
which human bones were bleaching in the sun. The leader spoke : 
" They are the bones of those who have gone before us. None has 
ever yet returned to tell the sad tale of their fate." Again Mud- 
jikewis became restless, and, running forward, gave the accustomed 
yell. Advancing to a large rock which stood above the ground, 
he struck it, and it fell to pieces. " See, brothers," said he; " thus 
will I treat those whom we are going to fight." " Still, still ! " once 
more said the leader. " He to whom I am leading you is not to be 
compared to the rock." 

Mudjikewis fell back thoughtful, saying to himself : " I wonder 
who this can be that he is going to attack "; and he was afraid. 
Still they continued to see the remains of former warriors, who had 
been to the place where they were now going, some of whom had 
retreated as far back as the place where they first saw the bones, 
beyond which no one had ever escaped. At last they came to a 
piece of rising ground, from which they plainly distinguished, 
sleeping on a distant mountain, a mammoth bear. 

The distance between them was very great, but the size of the 
animal caused him to be plainly seen. " There ! " said the leader; 
" it is he to whom I am leading you ; here our troubles will com- 
mence, for he is a mishemokwa and a manito. It is he who has 
that we prize so dearly (/. e., wampum), to obtain which, the war- 
riors whose bones we saw sacrified their lives. You must not 
be fearful ; be manly. We shall find him asleep." Then the 
leader went forward and touched the belt around the animal's 
neck. " This," said he, " is what we must get. It contains the 
wampum." Then they requested the eldest to try and slip the belt 
over the bear's head, who appeared to be fast asleep, as he was 
not in the least disturbed by the attempt to obtain the belt. All 
* War-whoop. 



456 



their efforts were in vain, till it came to the one next the youngest. 
He tried, and the belt moved nearly over the monster's head, but 
he could get it no farther. Then the youngest one, and the leader, 
made his attempt, and succeeded. Placing it on the back of the 
oldest, he said, " Now we must run," and off they started. When 
one became fatigued with its weight, another would relieve him. 
Thus they ran till they had passed the bones of all former warriors, 
and were some distance beyond, when, looking back, they saw the 
monster slowly rising. He stood some time before he missed his 
wampum. Soon they heard his tremendous howl, like distant 
thunder, slowly filling all the sky ; and then they heard him speak 
and say, " Who can it be that has dared to steal my wampum ? 
earth is not so large but that I can find them "; and he descended 
from the hill in pursuit. As if convulsed, tlie earth shook with 
every jump he made. Very soon he approached the party. They, 
however, kept the belt, exchanging it from one to another, and 
encouraging each other; but he gained on them fast. " Brothers," 
said the leader, " has never any one of you, when fasting, dreamed 
of some friendly spirit who would aid you as a guardian.^" A 
dead silence followed. " Well," said he, " fasting, I dreamed of 
being in danger of instant death, when I saw a small lodge, with 
smoke curling from its top. An old man lived in it, and I dreamed 
he helped me; and may it be verified soon," he said, running 
forward and giving the peculiar yell, and a howl as if the sounds 
came from the depths of his stomach, and what is called cJiecau- 
dum. Getting upon a piece of rising ground, behold ! a lodge, 
with smoke curling from its top, appeared. This gave them all 
new strength, and they ran forward and entered it. The leader 
spoke to the old man who sat in the lodge, saying, " Nemesho, 
help us ; we claim your protection, for the great bear will kill us." 
" Sit down and eat, my grandchildren," said the old man. " WHio 
is a great manito } " said he. " There is none but me ; but let me 
look," and he opened the door of the lodge, when, lo ! at a little 
distance he saw the enraged animal coming on, with slow but 
powerful leaps. He closed the door. "Yes," said he, "he is 
indeed a great manito. My grandchildren, you will be the cause 
of my losing my life ; you asked my protection, and I granted it ; 
so now, come what may, I will protect you. When the bear 
arrives at the door, you must run out of the other door of the 



457 



lodge." Then putting his hand to the side of the lodge where he 
sat, he brought out a bag which he opened. Taking out two 
small black dogs, he placed them before him. " These are the 
ones I use when I fight," said he ; and he commenced patting 
with both hands the sides of one of them, and he began to swell 
out, so that he soon filled the lodge by his bulk ; and he had great 
strong teeth. When he attained liis full size he growled, and from 
that moment, as from instinct, he jumped out at the door and met 
the bear, who in another leap would have reached the lodge. A 
terrible combat ensued. The skies rang with the howls of the 
fierce monsters. The remaining dog soon took the field. The 
brothers, at the onset, took the advice of the old man, and escaped 
through the opposite side of the lodge. They had not proceeded 
far before they heard the dying cry of one of the dogs, and, soon 
after, of the other. " Well," said the leader, " the old man will 
share their fate : so run ; he will soon be after us." They started 
■with fresh vigor, for they had received food from the old man : but 
very soon the bear came in sight, and again was fast gaining upon 
them. Again the leader asked the brothers if they could do noth- 
ing for their safety. All were silent. The leader, running forward, 
did as before. " I dreamed," he cried, " that, being in great trouble, 
an old man helped me who was a manito ; we shall soon see his 
lodge." Taking courage, they still went on. After going a short 
distance they saw the lodge of the old manito. They entered 
immediately and claimed his protection, telling him a manito was 
after them. The old man, setting meat before them, said: "Eat! 
Who is a manito ? there is no manito but me ; there is none whom 
I fear"; and the earth trembled as the monster advanced. The 
old man opened the door and saw him coming. He shut it slowly, 
and said : " Yes, my grandchildren, you have brought trouble upon 
me." Procuring his medicine-sack, he took out his small war-clubs 
of black stone, and told the young men to run through the other 
side of the lodge. As he handled the clubs, they became very large, 
and the old man stepped out just as the bear reached the door. 
Then striking him with one of the clubs, it broke in pieces ; the 
bear stumbled. Renewing the attempt with the other war-club, 
that also was broken, but the bear fell senseless. Each blow the 
old man gave him sounded like a clap of thunder, and the howls of 
the bear ran along till they filled the heavens. 



458 



The young men had now run some distance, when Ihey looked 
back. They could see that the bear was recovering from the blows. 
First he moved his paws, and soon they saw him rise on his feet. 
The old man shared the fate of the first, for they now heard his 
cries as he was torn in pieces. Again the monster was in pursuit, 
and fast overtaking them. Not yet discouraged, the young men 
kept on their way ; but the bear was now so close that the leader 
once more applied to his brothers, but they could do nothing. 
" Well," said he, " my dreams will soon be exhausted ; after this 
I have -but one more." He advanced, invoking his guardian spirit 
to aid him. " Once," said he, " I dreamed that, being sorely 
pressed, I came to a large lake, on the shore of which was a canoe, 
partly out of water, having ten paddles all in readiness. Do not 
fear ! " he cried, " we shall soon get it." And so it was, even as 
he had said. Coming to the lake, they saw the canoe with ten 
paddles, and iinmediately they embarked. Scarcely had they 
reached the centre of the lake, when they saw the bear arrive at 
its borders. Lifting himself on his hind legs, he looked all around. 
Then he waded into the water ; then, losing his footing, he turned 
back, and commenced making the circuit of the lake. Meantime 
the party remained stationary in the centre to watch his move- 
ments. He travelled all around, till at last he came to the place 
from whence he started. Then he commenced drinking up the 
water, and they saw the current fast setting in toward his open 
mouth. The leader encouraged them to paddle hard for the oppo- 
site shore. When only a short distance from land, the current 
had increased so much that they were drawn back by it, and all 
their efforts to reach it were in vain. 

Then the leader again spoke, telling them to meet their fates 
manfully. " Now is the time, Mudjikewis," said he, " to show your 
prowess. Take courage and sit at the bow of the canoe ; and when 
it approaches his mouth, try what effect your club will have on his 
head." He obeyed, and stood ready to give the blow ; while the 
leader, who steered, directed the canoe for the open mouth of the 
monster. 

Rapidly advancing, they were just about to enter his mouth, 
when Mudjikewis struck him a tremendous blow on the head, and 
gave the saw-saw-quan. The bear's limbs doubled under him, and 
he fell, stunned by the blow. But before Mudjikewis could renew 



459 



it, the monster disgorged all the water he had drank, with a force 
which sent the canoe with great velocity to the opposite shore. 
Instantly leaving the canoe, again they fled, and on they went till 
they were completely exhausted. The earth ag^in shook, and 
soon they saw the monster hard after them. Their spirits drooped, 
and they felt discouraged. The leader exerted himself, by actions 
and words, to cheer them up ; and once more he asked them if 
they thought of nothing, or could do nothing for their rescue ; and, 
as before, all were silent. " Then," he said, " this is the last time I 
can apply to my guardian spirit. Now, if we do not succeed, our 
fates are decided." He ran forward, invoking his spirit with great 
earnestness, and gave the yell. " We shall soon arrive," said he to 
his brothers, " at the place where my last guardian spirit dwells. In 
him I place great confidence. Do not, do not be afraid, or your 
limbs will be fear-bound. We shall soon reach his lodge. Run, 
run ! " he cried. 

Returning now to lamo, he had passed all the time in the same 
condition we had left him, the head directing his sister, in order to 
procure food, where to place the magic arrows, and speaking at 
long intervals. One day the sister saw the eyes of the head 
brighten, as if with pleasure. At last it spoke. " Oh, sister," it 
said, " in what a pitiful situation you have been the cause of plac- 
ing me ! Soon, very soon, a party of young men will arrive and 
apply to me for aid ; but alas ! How can I give what I would 
have done with so much pleasure ? Nevertheless, take two arrows, 
and place them where you have been in the habit of placing the 
others, and have meat prepared and cooked before they arrive. 
When you hear them coming and calling on my name, go out and 
say, ' Alas ! it is long ago that an accident befell him. I was the 
cause of it.' If they still come near, ask them in, and set meat 
before them. And now you must follow my directions strictly. 
When the bear is near, go out and meet him. You will take my 
medicine-sack, bow and arrows, and my head. You must then 
untie the sack, and spread out before you my paints of all colors, 
my war-eagle feathers, my tufts of dried hair, and whatever else it 
contains. As the bear approaches, you will take all these articles, 
one by one, and say to him, * This is my deceased brother's paint,' 
and so on with all the other articles, throwing each of them as far 
as you can. The virtues contained in them will cause him to 



460 



totter; and, to complete his destruction, you will take my head^ 
and that too you will cast as far off as you can, crying aloud, ' See, 
this is my deceased brother's head ! ' He will then fall senseless^ 
By this time the young men will have eaten, and you will call them 
to your assistance. You must then cut the carcass into pieces — yes, 
into small pieces — and scatter them to the four winds; for, unless 
you do this, he will again revive." She promised that all should 
be done as he said. She had only time to prepare the meat, when 
the voice of the leader was heard calling upon lamo for aid. The 
woman went out and said as her brother had directed. But the 
war-party, being closely pursued, came up to the lodge. She in- 
vited them in, and placed the meat before them. While they were 
eating, they heard the bear approaching. Untying the medicine- 
sack and taking the head, she had all in readiness for his approach. 
When he came up she did as she had been told ; and before she 
had expended the paints and feathers, the bear began to totter, 
but, still advancing, came close to the woman. Saying as 
she was commanded, she then took the head, and cast it as far 
from her as she could. As it rolled along the ground, the 
blood, excited by the feelings of the head in this terrible scene, 
gushed from the nose and mouth. The bear, tottering, soon fell 
with a tremendous noise. Then she cried for help, and the young 
men came rushing out, having partially regained their strength 
and spirits. 

Mudjikewis, stepping up, gave a yell and struck him a blow upon 
the head. This he repeated, till it seemed like a mass of brains, 
while the others, as quick as possible, cut him into very small 
pieces, which they then scattered in every direction. While thus 
employed, happening to look around where they had thrown the 
meat, wonderful to behold, they saw starting up and running ofT in 
every direction small black bears, such as are seen at the present 
day. The country was soon overspread with these black animals. 
And it was from this monster that the present race of bears 
derived their origin. 

Having thus overcome their pursuer, they returned to the lodge. 
In the mean time, the woman, gathering the implements she had 
used, and the head, placed them again in the sack. But the head 
did not speak again, probably from its great exertion to overcome 
the monster. 



46i 



Having spent so much time and traversed so vast a country in 
their flight, the young men gave up the idea of ever returning to 
"their own country, and game being plenty, they determined to 
remain where they now were. One day they moved off some dis- 
tance from the lodge for the purpose of hunting, having left the 
wampum with the woman. They were very successful, and amused 
themselves, as all young men do when alone, by talking and jest- 
ing with each other. One of them spoke and said, "We have all 
this sport to ourselves ; let us go and ask our sister if she will not 
let us bring the head to this place, as it is still alive. It may be 
pleased to hear us talk, and be in our company. In the mean time 
take food to our sister." They went and requested the head. She 
told them to take it, and they took it to their hunting-grounds, and 
tried to amuse it, but only at times did they see its eyes beam with 
pleasure. One day, while busy in their encampment, they were 
unexpectedly attacked by unknown Indians. The skirmish was 
long contested and bloody; many of their foes were slain, but still 
they were thirty to one. The young men fought desperately till 
they were all killed. The attacking party then retreated to a 
height of ground, to muster their men, and to count the number 
of missing and slain. One of their young men had stayed away, 
and, in endeavoring to overtake them, came to the place where the 
head was hung up. Seeing that alone retain animation, he eyed it 
for some time with fear and surprise. However, he took it down 
and opened the sack, and was much pleased to see the beautiful 
feathers, one of which he placed on his head. 

Starting off, it waved gracefully over him till he reached his 
party, when he threw down the head and sack, and told them 
how he had found it, and that the sack was full of paints and 
feathers. They all looked at the head and made sport of it. 
Numbers of the young men took the paint and painted them- 
selves, and one of the party took the head by the hair and 
said : 

" Look, you ugly thing, and see your paints on the faces of 
warriors." 

But the feathers were so beautiful that numbers of them also 
placed them on their heads. Then again they used all kinds of 
indignity to the head, for which they were in turn repaid by the 
death of those who had used the feathers. Then the chief com- 



462 



manded them to throw away all except the head. " We will see, 
said he, " when we get home, what we can do with it. We will 
try to make it shut its eyes." 

When they reached their homes they took it to the council-lodge 
and hung it up before the fire, fastening it with raw hide soaked, 
which would shrink and become tightened by the action of the 
fire. " We will then see," they said, " if we cannot make it shut 
its eyes." 

Meantime, for several days, the sister had been waiting for the 
young men to bring back the head ; till at last, getting in-patient, 
she went in search of it. The young men she found lying within 
short distances of each other, dead, and covered with wounds. 
Various other bodies lay scattered in different directions around 
them. She searched for the head and sack, but they were no- 
where to be found. She raised her voice and wept, and blackened 
her face. Then she walked in different directions, till she came 
to the place from whence the head had been taken. Then she 
found the magic bow and arrows, where the young men, ignorant 
of their qualities, had left them. She thought to herself that she 
would find her brother's head, and came to a piece of rising 
ground, and there saw some of his paints and feathers. These 
she carefully put up, and hung upon the branch of a tree till her 
return. 

At dusk she arrived at the first lodge of a very extensive village. 
Here she used a charm, common among Indians when they wish 
to meet with a kind reception. On applying to the old man and 
woman of the lodge, she was kindly received. She made known 
her errand. The old man promised to aid her, and told her the 
head was hung up before the council-fire, and that the chiefs of 
the village, with their young men, kept watch over it continually. 
The former are considered as manitoes. She said she only wished 
to see it, and would be satisfied if she could only get to the door 
of the lodge. She knew she had not sufficient power to take it by 
force. " Come with me," said the Indian, " I will take you there." 
They went, and they took their seats near the door. The council- 
lodge was filled with warriors, amusing themselves with games, 
and constantly keeping up a fire to smoke the head, as they said, 
to make dry meat. They saw the head move, and not knowing 
what to make of it, one spoke and said: " Ha ! ha! It is begin- 



463 



ning to feel the effects of the smoke." The sister looked up from 
the door, and her eyes met those of her brother, and tears rolled 
down the cheeks of the head. " Well," said the chief, " I thought 
we would make you do something at last. Look ! look at it — 
shedding tears ! " said he to those around him ; and they all laughed 
and passed their jokes upon it. The chief, looking around and 
observing the woman, after some time said to the man who came 
with her : " Who have you got there ? I have never seen that 
woman before in our village." " Yes," replied the man, " you 
have seen her ; she is a relation of mine, and seldom goes out. 
She stays at my lodge, and asked me to allow her to come with 
me to this place." In the centre of the lodge sat one of those 
young men who are always forward and fond of boasting and dis- 
playing themselves before others. " Why," said he, " I've seen her 
often, and it is to this lodge I go, almost every night, to court her." 
All the others laughed and continued their games. The young 
man did not know he was telling a lie to the woman's advantage, 
who by that means escaped. 

She returned to the man's lodge, and immediately set out for 
her own country. Coming to the spot where the bodies of her 
adopted brothers lay, she placed them together, their feet toward 
the east. Then, taking an axe which she had, she cast it up into 
the air, crying out, " Brothers, get up from under it, or it will fall 
on you ! " This she repeated three times, and the third time the 
brothers all arose and stood on their feet. 

Mudjikewis commenced rubbing his eyes and stretching him- 
self. " Why," said he, " I have overslept myself." " No, indeed," 
said one of the others ; " do you not know we were all killed, and 
that it is our sister who has brought us to life.'' " The young men 
took the bodies of their enemies and burned them. Soon after, 
the woman went to procure wives for them in a distant country, 
they knew not where ; but she returned with ten young women, 
whom she gave to the ten young men, beginning with the eldest. 
Mudjikewis stepped to and fro, uneasy lest he should not get the 
one he liked. But he was not disappointed, for she fell to his lot. 
And they were well matched, for she was a female magician. 
They then all moved into a very large lodge, and their sister told 
them that the women must now take turns in going to her 
brother's head every night, trying to untie it. They all said they 



464 



would do so with pleasure. The eldest made the first attempt, 
and with a rushing noise she fled through the air. 

Toward daylight she returned. She had been unsuccessful, as 
she succeeded in untying only one of the knots. All took their 
turns regularly, and each one succeeded in untying only one knot 
each time. But when the youngest went, she commenced the 
work as soon as she reached the lodge ; although it had always 
been occupied, still the Indians never could see any one. For ten 
nights now, the smoke had not ascended, but filled the lodge and 
drove them out. This last night they were all driven out, and the 
young woman carried off the head. 

The young people and the sister heard the young woman com- 
ing high through the air, and they heard her saying : " Prepare the 
body of our brother," And as soon as they heard it, they went to 
a small lodge where the black body of lamo lay. His sister com- 
menced cutting the neck part, from which the neck had been 
severed. She cut so deep as to cause it to bleed ; and the others 
who were present, by rubbing the body and applying medicines, 
expelled the blackness. In the mean time the one who brought 
it, by cutting the neck of the head, caused that also to bleed. 

As soon as she arrived, they placed that close- to the body, and, 
by aid of medicines and various other means, succeeded in restor- 
ing lamo to all his former beauty and manliness. All rejoiced in 
the happy termination of their troubles, and they had spent some 
time joyfully together, when lamo said : " Now I will divide the 
wampum "; and getting the belt which contained it, he commenced 
with the eldest, giving it in equal portions. But the youngest got 
the most splendid and beautiful, as the bottom of the belt held the 
richest and rarest. 

They were told that, since they had all once died, and were 
restored to life, they were no longer mortal, but spirits, and they 
were assigned different stations in the invisible world. Only Mud- 
jikewis's place was, however, named. He was to direct the west 
wind, hence generally called Kebeyun, there to remain forever. 
They were commanded, as they had it in their power, to do good 
to the inhabitants of the earth, and, forgetting their sufferings in 
procuring the wampum, to give all things with a liberal hand. 
And they were also commanded that it should also be held by 
them sacred ; those grains or shells of the pale liue to be emble- 



i 



465 



matic of peace, while thpse of the darker hue would lead to evil 
and war. 

The spirits then, amid songs and shouts, took their flight to 
their respective abodes on high ; while lamo, with his sister 
lamoqua, descended into the depths below. 



THE END 



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